


Variations on a Theme

by thievinghippo



Series: Wynneth Hindemith - swtor [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots set during <i>Knights of the Fallen Empire</i> and <i>Knights of the Eternal Empire</i> exploring the reunion and relationship of Aric Jorgan and the Republic Trooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> These will be written in no particular order. I'll make sure to make a note of when each one-shot takes place during the expansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapter Eleven: Disavowed, after they make it back to the camp

**Nocturne:** A musical composition that has a romantic or dreamy character with nocturnal associations.

#

Only the sound of clapping and cheering break them apart.

Jorgan watches the heat rise in Wynneth’s cheeks, a reminder just how easy it is to make her blush, one of his favorite things to do when they’re alone. She rests her forehead against his chestpiece, seemingly to hide her face, and Jorgan turns them slightly, not letting go, to shield her from the group watching them.

He didn’t mean to kiss her just now. At least, he didn’t mean to kiss her in front of the entire camp. But it turns out even Jorgan has a limit to his sniper’s patience. And fighting side by side all day next to his wife finally caused him to reach the end of his.

Looking over at the crowd, he sees Dengril is the instigator of the cheers. Of course he is. Dengril’s been a good friend over the years when Jorgan desperately needed one. He looks back down at Wynneth. “They’re just happy for me,” Jorgan says softly. “Ignore them.”

Wynneth lets out a quiet laugh, her face still hidden. “Everyone in this camp knows we’re going to have sex tonight.”

“Exiles might not know,” Jorgan counters, trying to push away some of the guilt piling on his shoulders. All those people, turned from their homes because of them. It makes him sick.

It’s also not a problem he can solve tonight.

So for once in his life, Jorgan decides not to worry about things he can’t solve, and instead focuses on the woman in front of him.

Wynneth lifts her head, her cheeks still slightly flushed, and says, “Tell me you have a private tent.”

Jorgan nods slowly. “And I made sure I’m not on the watch schedule for the night.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “So you knew-”

“Let’s take this private,” he says, interrupting, not wanting to talk any more in the open. “I feel like I have a target on my back.”

Wynneth steps away, and before he can stop himself, Jorgan takes her hand, intertwining their fingers. He’s usually not one for public displays like this, but damnit, it’s been five years. He’ll forgive himself this one time.

“Lead the way,” Wynneth says, squeezing his hand.

The entire camp seems to be staring at them as they walk over to Kanner, who has first watch.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Kanner says with a crisp nod. “We’ll only wake you for mission critical.”

“Thanks, Kanner,” Jorgan says, appreciating the attempt at discretion. “Don’t take a double watch tonight. I know you’ll try. We need you at your best tomorrow.”

“Understood, sir,” Kanner says.

Jorgan shakes his head as he and Wynneth walk to the weapons rack. “That’s not a ‘yes, sir,’ Kanner,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Best you’re getting, Major,” Kanner says back.

“You know, I think like her,” Wynneth says, taking her blaster rifle off her back.

He chuckles as he unlatches his own rifle before pointing out a free space for Wynneth to store her weapon. As much as he wants to get her alone, they’re both veterans, with too much respect for their gear. Proper care and maintenance of their kits could be the difference between life and death tomorrow.

Once both their weapons are stored, Jorgan releases the seals of his chestpiece as they walk to the tent. A familiar sense of relief washes over him as he takes a deep breath. And finally they stand in front of the tent. “This is us,” he says, trying to sound casual as he holds open the flap.

Wynneth steps inside and he follows at once. The tent’s not quite tall enough to let him stand up straight, so he hunches over as he takes his chestpiece off before carefully settling it down on the ground.

The minute he’s upright, Wynneth is in his arms, hand on his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Jorgan tries to savor the feeling of her lips against his, holding her as close as he possibly can. It will never, ever be close enough.

When they break apart, Jorgan rests his brow on hers, content to simply hold her for a bit. Granted, he wants to get out of the rest of his armor - his feet are fucking killing him - but this, _this_ , is so much more important.

“I was worried about you,” Wynneth says in a low voice. “They unfroze me and no one knew where you were. I missed you so much.”

Jorgan bit back a reply. Theron knew _exactly_ where he was, just choose not to share the information. But that really isn’t a discussion he wants to have tonight, not when his cock is already straining against his protective cup.

“We’re here now, Winnie,” Jorgan says, her nickname rolling easily off his tongue, even after five years. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”

She nods, giving him one more brief kiss before stepping back and taking off more gear. Jorgan follows suit, taking off his bracers and boots. He watches her undress, trying to see where all the seals are, so he can undress her himself in future, but decides that will need to be a lesson for another day. In her old Havoc kit, Jorgan could undress her with his eyes closed.

Once the last piece is on the ground, Jorgan swallows, suddenly nervous. They’re both in their underarmor, following their old rule of no nakedness in camp. But his nerves don’t have time to settle before Wynneth’s lying down on the bedroll.

He can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t be lying next to her, so Jorgan gets down on the ground, thankful for the double thermal bedroll, giving them some comfort. It’s not ideal. Ideal would be in a locked room with a decent size bed. But they’ll make it work.

They’re side by side now, bodies flush, as they start to kiss, open-mouthed. Jorgan puts his hand on her ass, trying to bring her closer. He wants to feel _everything_ , from the curve of her breasts to the heat of her cunt.

But he’s also got something to say. “Winnie,” he says, dragging his teeth down the side of her neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to leave a little mark he’ll be able to enjoy looking at tomorrow. “It’s been five years.”

She stops digging her nails into his hip at those words and leans back. “I know, I’m so sor-”

Jorgan kisses her nose. “Not looking for an apology. I mean it’s been five years since we’ve had sex, babe. I’m gonna last about a minute once I get inside you.”

Swinging her leg over his hip, there’s a smirk on her face as she says, “Good thing I love to watch you come.”

He groans as she grinds against him. “Keep that up and it will be thirty seconds,” Jorgan says.

While she laughs, he takes the chance to lift her undershirt up, wanting to feel as much bare skin as possible. But Jorgan stops the moment he feels a scarred-over wound on her stomach.

It’s too perfectly circular to be anything other than a lightsaber mark.

He must be a glutton for punishment, because Jorgan puts his hand on her bare back and feels the exact same mark, in the exact same spot.

“You were impaled by a lightsaber,” Jorgan says quietly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact. If this is true, she should be dead. No one gets a lightsaber through the gut and lives.

“I was. And I will tell you everything, Aric, I promise,” Wynneth says and he can hear the earnestness in her voice. “Just not tonight.”

He struggles with himself, between wanting to know everything this very moment, and knowing there simply isn’t time. They need sex, then sleep. Not stories that will probably take half the night to tell. Not when there’s an op this important tomorrow. 

“Is it mission critical?” Jorgan asks.

The hesitation before she speaks answers his question. It’s absolutely mission critical. “Yes, but not _this_ mission,” she says as her hand wanders his back. Jorgan tries and fails not to shiver. Been too damn long since she’s touched him. “It’s a three day trip to Odessen. We’ll make sure we’re on the same boat back.”

“Agreed,” Jorgan says, leaning forward and kissing her. He glides his tongue next to hers, reminding himself of the differences of a human tongue. Wider, not quite as rough. He can’t imagine kissing another tongue, not anymore, just like he can’t imagine kissing a different pair of lips. A thought comes to him and he breaks off the kiss. “It’ll have to be your ship. I don’t have a private bunk.”

“Done,” Wynneth says with a laugh.

He’s about to think up some banter in response, but then her hands are undoing the slit in his underarmor. Closing his eyes, Jorgan holds his breath as she guides his cock through the slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His eyes stay closed as he hears Wynneth spit in her hand. He almost jumps as the soft skin of her palm wraps around his cock.

As she strokes up, slow enough to be a war crime, as far as he’s concerned, Wynneth whispers, “How’s that feel?”

It’s too much. It’s too _fucking_ much. Her hand tight around him, her breasts pushed against his chest, his fingers brushing the mark on her shoulder, the one he lovingly clawed into her skin each night during the first week of their marriage.

“I can’t-” he says without thinking.

It’s a testament to the Republic military consent training that Wynneth doesn’t hesitate. She pushes herself away and raises both hands in front of her so he can see them. “Aric?” she asks softly, concern lacing her voice.

“Blast it,” Jorgan says, hoping he just didn’t ruin their reunion. “I didn’t mean-” He takes her hands in his and looks her right in the eye. “Yes. I want this. I want you. _Yes_.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” she says, and then she’s pressing against him again, her lips sucking at his jaw.

Her hands brush his cock again, but it takes Jorgan only a moment to realize she’s undoing the opening of her own underarmor. He doesn’t waste any time pushing her hands away to take over the job.

She’s already so fucking wet. Jorgan brings his hand to his mouth, just to get a taste, reveling in the tanginess on his tongue.

“Taste like you remember?” Wynneth says.

“Better,” Jorgan says.

Wynneth puts her leg over his thigh again, giving Jorgan a moment to try to line things up. They used to joke that tents were for fucking, and beds for making love. But he doesn’t want to fuck tonight. Not after five years without her. So as awkward as it will be, both of them wearing underarmor as they face each other, Jorgan is going to make love to his wife.

He guides his cock through the slit in her underarmor, trying to ignore the fabric brushing his cock. When the head rubs open against Wynneth’s cunt, they both inhale quickly. _Fuck_ , he’s not even inside her and he barely control himself.

It takes a moment, but finally Jorgan’s inside her, her warmth surrounding him completely. Neither one of them move and he simply breathes, watching her face. Wynneth moves first, kissing him fiercely, all the encouragement he needs.

The angle is awkward, but Jorgan starts to move his hips, slowly at first, trying to reacquaint himself with Wynneth’s body. But she feels so fucking good, he can’t help but thrust faster.

Neither one of the talk, another rule of having sex in a tent, but more than one soft moan escapes her lips. Jorgan pulls out a bit too far, grimacing as his cock rubs against the velcro of her undersuit. So when he thrusts again, instead of pulling out again, he starts to grind.

Wynneth’s eyes are shut tight and she looks so fucking beautiful like this, when beads of sweat are across her brow and her hair is falling out of place. Somehow he managed to survive without her, without this, for five years.

She starts to clench around him, and Jorgan knows he won’t last much longer. When she digs her nails into his shoulder, the slight twinge of pain is enough to cause him to come undone. His orgasm is sharp, on the verge of being painful except it feels _so fucking good_ , and he needs to grind his teeth together to keep from shouting out. 

Once he’s done, Jorgan leans forward, resting his brow against hers. “Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” Wynneth says with a soft smile. He grunts in response. Somehow she always knows exactly when he’s trying to say those words.

Her gaze isn’t quite focuses as she bites her lower lip. So without another word, he pushes Wynneth onto her back, his hand sliding down the front of her lower underarmor. He finds her clit easily and starts to work, determined to get her off.

It takes almost no time at all before she’s bucking her hips into his hand as she buries her head against his shoulder. Jorgan watches her carefully, wanting to see the exact moment her body lets loose.

He presses down on her clit, and that’s enough. Wynneth arches her back, a closed fist covering her mouth as she grinds against his hand. When she stills, Jorgan moves his hand and places it on her belly, over the lightsaber scar.

“Not bad for a five year break,” she says, breathing heavily as she intertwines their fingers together.

“Agreed,” Jorgan says, propping himself up with an elbow. Exhaustion is settling over him, but not the type that’s going to let him sleep easily. Too much has happened, too much is going to happen, to let him fall asleep quickly. “Bet I lasted ninety seconds there.”

She lets out a weary laugh. “Selling yourself short, Aric. That was easily two minutes.” Wynneth sighs, then, and wrinkles her nose. “I should go to the bathroom after that.”

The last thing Jorgan wants is for her to leave this tent, not when a dozen people will probably stop her and want her attention. “Stay,” he says quietly, hearing the slight plead in his own voice. Just for tonight he wants to be selfish and keep her all to himself. Tomorrow they’ll both give away piece after piece of themselves in order to save the galaxy. But that’s tomorrow. He just wants tonight.

She turns and rolls over onto her stomach, cradling her head in her folded arms, looking up at him. “You win. But I’m blaming you if I get a UTI,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Deal,” Jorgan says.

Her back is simply too tempting to ignore, he decides, extending his claws. He pushes up her underarmor top to expose as much skin as he can. Then as gently as possible, Jorgan glides the claws on one hand down her back. He doesn’t press hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to lightly scratch her back.

Wynneth shivers as she smiles. “I’m gonna fall asleep in a minute if you keep that up.”

“Feel free,” Jorgan says. “From what I hear, they’ve been running you ragged. Sounds like you need some sleep.”

“Sure you don’t mind?” Wynneth asks. “Give me a little time and I’ll be ready for round two.”

“I need a little more recovery than that,” Jorgan admits. Strange to think he’s five years older now and she looks like she hasn’t aged a day since she stepped on to Darth Marr’s flagship. Guess carbonite will do that. “Round two can be in the morning. We really do need to get some sleep for tomorrow.”

She nods and Jorgan can tell she’s about to fall asleep. Within minutes, she is, though now Jorgan feels wide awake. But he knows, whenever he does fall asleep, he’s going to sleep better than he has in _years_.


	2. Madrigal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapter Eleven: Disavowed, a few hours after [Nocturne](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6281671/chapters/14393749).

**Madrigal:** A contrapuntal song written for at least three voices, usually without accompaniment.

#

If he can help it, Theron always makes sure to take first watch. He hates being woken up in the middle of the night to take over a shift. Ruins his whole night.

Problem is, first watch tends to be on the more boring side. Well, he supposes boring is better than exciting in this case. And as he gives Koth a sideways glance, Theron decides at least the company is good.

They’re sitting in one of the two main tents, at a makeshift table. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but then Theron picks up a bit of movement to his left, and is more than just a little surprised to see Jorgan leaving his tent. He figured the good Major and the commander wouldn’t be seen again until dawn.

Jorgan’s heading right for the main tent and Theron shifts uncomfortably in his seat. As far as Theron’s concerned, he and Lana owe both Jorgan and the commander an apology for keeping the truth covered for so long. But Lana will believe in the Jedi Code before that happens.

“Gentlemen,” Jorgan says with a nod of his head, heading to a pile of water bottles.

Theron tries to keep the smirk off his face. Jorgan looks and sounds almost relaxed compared to a few hours ago. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” Theron says, leaning back in his chair.

Jorgan makes a noise between a snort and a chuckle and grabs a water bottle. “Made a rookie mistake. Forgot to grab some water.” He takes a long sip. “Winnie’s sound asleep, so I figure I’d grab a drink.”

Letting out a laugh, Koth says, “Did you just call the commander-”

“She will kill you if you finish that sentence,” Jorgan says, holding up his hand. “Took me a long few years to earn the right to call her that.”

Theron looks over at Koth, who’s studying Jorgan. And then it dawns on him that these probably have no idea who the other is. Koth might not have ever even seen a Cathar before. Time to remedy that. “You two been introduced yet?” Theron asks, not surprised when they both shake their heads.

“Koth, this is Major Aric Jorgan, head of the most decorated special forces squad in the Republic. He’s also the commander’s husband,” Theron says quickly. “Jorgan, this is Koth Vortena, formerly of the Zakuul military. He helped rescue the commander from carbonite.”

Jorgan sticks out his hand. “Thanks for getting her out,” he says and Theron doesn’t think he imagines a touch of bitterness in his voice.

“Any time,” Koth says, shaking Jorgan’s hand. He looks at Theron. “If the commander is married to someone in SpecForces, why didn’t Lana-”

“Let’s not go there tonight,” Theron says with a sigh, holding up both his hands in surrender.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jorgan says, “Friendly warning, Theron. Wynneth’s furious at you both for keeping us in the dark. I’m not pleased, either, but she’s the one you need to worry about.”

“Great, just great,” Theron mutters to himself. He knew this would happen. How many times did he suggest they bring Jorgan into the fold? They probably could have gotten her out more quickly with Havoc’s help. But no, Lana had to do things her way, convinced the bloody Force was guiding her.

“Well, I think I’ve been gone long enough,” Jorgan says, taking another sip of water. “Time to get some shut eye.”

With a nod of his head, Jorgan turns around and walks back to his tent.

“Think he’s really going to sleep?” Koth asks.

“Would you if you hadn’t had sex in five years?” Theron asks with a chuckle. Funny how more than one person in camp tonight has found a reason to go near the Major’s tent, probably wondering if they could hear a reunion in progress. If Theron had to guess? Jorgan and the commander are old hands at keeping quiet.

“Five years?” Koth says, raising his eyebrows. “Even if they were married, he thought she was dead. I’ve got to imagine he went out and got some in the past five years.”

Theron stands and walks over to the water bottle pile. “Ah, but you’ve never heard about the Cathar, Jorgan’s race,” he says, picking up a bottle. He holds one up to Koth, who nods. “Cathar take marriage very seriously. They don’t even have a word for divorce in their language.”

“Damn,” Koth says as Theron tosses him a water bottle. “My parents would have been screwed.”

“Ha. I understand the sentiment completely. But Cathar also believe marriage doesn’t ever end. Even if one partner dies, the other partner is still married. Knowing Jorgan like I do, I can damn well guarantee he hasn’t even looked at another woman in the last five years.”

Koth raises his eyebrows at that. “Why in the world would two SpecForce soldiers get married, then? Seems like you’re asking for trouble.”

Theron shrugs. “They really must love each other to risk it,” he says. He wonders about that sort of love. Love that defies sense like that. Love like his parents apparently shared, though the less he knows about that, the better. And Theron wonders if maybe some day, he might find a love like that as well. 

But then he sees a couple of members of Havoc leaving their tents to take over watch, and Theron decides that’s definitely a thought for another day. Right now? Sleep is definitely more important than musings about love.


	3. Rubato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapter Eleven: Disavowed, during the trip back to Odessen. In my headcanon, it’s at least a 48 hour trip.

**Rubato:** A style where the strict tempo is temporarily abandoned for a more emotional tone.

#

Her ship’s private bunk might be small, but it’s plenty big for her and Aric. And most importantly, it’s _private_.

He’s sitting against the headboard as Wynneth sits between his spread legs while he brushes her hair. Before they became a couple, she had no idea how important social grooming was to the Cathar. But she learned quickly and grew to treasure these moments when they just took care of each other.

“How do you want it?” Aric asks quietly, putting down the brush. Wynneth closes her eyes as she feels his lips press against her shoulder, bare except for the strap of her tank top.

“A braid is fine,” Wynneth says, placing a hand on each of his knees, enjoying the feel of the fine layer of fur covering his hide against her palms. “Thank you.”

A few moments later, he’s done, and Wynneth leans back contentedly against him as he slides his hands under her shirt to rest on her bare belly.

“We ready to have that talk yet?” Aric asks.

“Can I ask a few questions first?” Wynneth asks, squeezing his hands. The truth is she wants to stall. She’d rather not talk about what’s going on in her head. She’d rather not even think about what’s going on in her head. But Aric needs the truth. Just a few minutes from now. “Missed a lot in the last five years.”

“Hit me.”

Now that she can ask whatever she wants, Wynneth isn’t sure where to start, so she decides to start simple. “How are your parents?” she asks. Aric doesn’t answer right away and Wynneth feels her stomach churn. She sits up from his embrace and turns to face him. “Aric?”

“Dad died about two years back,” Aric says slowly. “Heart attack. Completely out of the blue. Havoc was on a classified op at the time. Didn’t even get the message until two weeks after his funeral.”

Her heart broke for him, that this happened, and that she wasn’t there to help him through the worst of it. “Oh, Aric, I’m so sorry,” Wynneth says, leaning forward and hugging him. It’s awkward, but Aric doesn’t let her go. “You two ever make up?”

He shakes his head and Wynneth closes her eyes, hating she was the reason of strife between them. “Got worse after you disappeared. He kept saying since you were gone, I could go find myself a Cathar mate. Didn’t matter how many times I told him you and I exchanged vows in front of the Elders, so I was _married,_ he just said you weren’t Cathar, so it didn’t count.”

Wynneth only met Aric’s parents twice. The first time was cordial, since it was before she and Aric became a couple, when he was convalescing after the Gauntlet. But the second time… They refused to travel to Coruscant for the human wedding ceremony, and when Aric and she went to Rendili for the Cathar ceremony, the four of them had a tense, brief dinner together.

“Mom’s doing okay, though,” Aric says. “Littermates are good. We’ve got a couple of new nieces and nephews.”

“You got pictures?” Wynneth asks, turning so she sits next to Aric, who immediately takes her hand. Now Aric’s littermates, Aria and Arrett, she likes a great deal and thankfully, they have no problem with her not being Cathar.

“Of course,” he says, kissing her temple. “I’ll show you when I’m actually willing to get out of bed and grab my holopad. So it might be a while.”

“I’m in no rush,” she says, leaning into him a bit. Her next question comes to mind, and she feels her pulse start to race a bit. “Any idea how my parents are?”

There’s concern in his voice when he says, “They don’t know you’re alive yet?”

She shakes her head and guilt weighs down her shoulders. “I don’t know how. Theron says their holofrequencies are probably monitored since they live on a Republic base. And I don’t have an encryption backup with them like you and I had.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Aric says, and the confidence she hears lets her relax a bit. She knows she could probably have gone to Theron and ask for help, but this is personal. Her parents don’t need to be involved with anything in regards to the Alliance. “But I spoke to them about six months ago, I think. Your mom’s been good about keeping in touch.”

“Good,” Wynneth says, relief washing over her. “My brothers?”

“Tanner got married to a navy nurse, maybe three years ago. They invited me, but I wasn’t able to go. They’ve got a kid now, a little girl,” he says. “I left Jenner a message after you disappeared, but I never heard back.”

There are days she wished she had a better relationship with her half-brothers. But they were so much younger than her. Tanner was born when she was fifteen and Jenner when she was eighteen and already in officer training. Maybe one day.

Aric lets go of her hand and places his own on top of her lightsaber scar. “You ready to tell me how you lived through this?”

Wynneth closes her eyes, wondering just how to tell him what’s happened. Probably best to rip off the bandage. Even so, she stalls by laying down on her side. Aric quickly follows suit and they simply look at each other.

“Valkorian, Vitiate, whatever you want to call him…” Wynneth reaches out and puts her hand on Aric’s hip, needing that connection. “He’s in my head.”

Aric sits up at once. “What do you mean? Like Master Surro?” he asks, and looking her over like he worries she might be possessed right now.

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t tried to take me over or anything like that. But he talks to me. Offered me his power a couple of time.”

“His power?” Aric says. “I really don’t like the sound of that, Winnie.”

“You think I like it?” Wynneth says, her voice strained. Her hands ball into fists as she talks. “You know how much I hate the Force and to have the Sith Emperor in my head?”

“So Valkorian saved you,” Aric says, placing the palm of his hand on the lightsaber wound on her stomach. “No one hates that bastard more than me, but guess I need to thank him for that.”

She doesn’t like the bitterness she hears in her voice when she speaks. “I don’t. That means he forced his power on me without my permission. And if he does it once, he might do it again.”

Aric settles down on his side again, slipping his arm behind the crook of her neck. Wynneth takes the chance to scoot as close as possible to her husband, tucking her head under his chin.

Laying flush like this makes her realize something. “You’ve lost weight,” she says, running her hand up his arm and over his shoulder. She’s not imagining it. Aric is definitely more lithe than he was.

“Hell of a subject change there,” Aric says dryly. “And for the record, we’re not done talking about this, but yeah, I have.”

“On purpose?”

He lets out a chuckle. “On purpose. I bulked up a lot when I was assigned to Ord Mantell and that first year in Havoc,” he says. Wynneth bites her lower lip as he slides his hand down her underwear to rest on her ass. “After you disappeared, it was like I was commanding the Dead-Eyes instead of Havoc for a while. Lots of decapitation ops. So I decided to go back to my sniper form.”

“I like it,” Wynneth says. And she does, not that she didn’t appreciate the way he looked before. “The leaner look suits you.”

“Glad you think so. You done avoiding the question?”

Wynneth feels the sudden prick of Aric’s claws pushing into the fleshy part of her ass and lets out a yelp. “Oh you-” She makes the mistake of grabbing his arm, and his claws drag along her ass as she pushes him onto his back. Before he has a chance to move away, she straddles his hips, her hands on his chest.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Aric says with a smirk. “Looking forward to seeing that one.”

With a mock huff, Wynneth reaches for his hands and pins them above his head. She’s lying on top of him now, her breasts pushed against his chest, and he’s making absolutely no effort to move. “You’re damn lucky I love you,” she says, leaning forward and nipping him on the chin. Her dull human teeth won’t do any damage against his hide, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Yeah,” he says softly, raising his head. Wynneth closes her eyes as he presses his lips against her neck. “I am.”

He’s impossible to resist in moments like this. Without another thought, she lowers her head and kisses him hard. That’s when Aric easily breaks her hold. Somehow, she manages to contain her ‘fight’ instinct as he flips them over, so he lies on top of her.

“Thought you wanted to talk,” she says between kisses.

“Five years, Winnie,” he says, kissing down her jaw.

Wynneth lets out a laugh as she wraps her legs around his waist. “We had sex less than two hours ago.”

“ _Five years_.”

“Seven times in the last three days,” she tells him as she grabs the hem of his t-shirt and starts to lift it up, ready for the eighth.

The stat clearly catches Aric’s attention. Propping himself up on his forearms, he says, “Wait, are you counting? Why do I find that hot?”

Lifting her head, Wynneth kisses him, capturing his lower lip between her teeth. “I tried to keep track in the beginning, too. Lost count around a hundred.”

Her eyes close as he kisses her again, soft and slow, the sudden urgency gone. After a moment, Wynneth knows they’re not starting time number eight, and Aric moves to her side, hand on her lightsaber wound. “So he’s in your head.”

Wynneth nods, not sure what to say. But since there’s really only one worry she’s had about Valkorian since this began, she starts there. “If something happens…” She trails off to take a breath. “Don’t let Lana experiment on me, _please._ ”

Aric’s jaw clenches, and Wynneth lets herself relax at the determination she sees on his face. “I won’t. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I just have to hope he doesn’t take me over, I guess. Or that I can resist him until we can figure out a way to get him out.”

He squeezes her hand and Wynneth holds on like a lifeline. “If anyone can keep him out, it’s you.”

A shiver runs down her spine. Is anyone strong enough to resist Valkorian in the end? Wynneth supposes only time will tell. But as a soldier used to having well-defined objectives, the thought doesn’t rest easy.

She’ll have to hope for the best. And start to plan for the worst.


	4. Adagio

**Adagio** : A tempo having slow movement; restful at ease.

#

“Seventeen,” Jorgan says, picking up the hoodie that’s on the bed.

He looks around Wynneth’s quarters in the Alliance base, really taking in details for the first time. When they first entered the room, Jorgan was far more interested in getting her out of her clothes and into this very bed. It’s a decent size room, bigger than what they had on the _Thunderclap,_ with a small refresher. They’ll still have to shower in the barracks, but at least they can take care of some things without leaving the room.

“Seventeen what?” Wynneth asks, amusement lacing her voice, as she pulls up a skirt.

“Hoodies,” Jorgan says, throwing the hoodie to Wynneth. She doesn’t even bother to catch it, letting it fall at her feet. He takes a moment to stare, seeing that she’s only wearing a knee-length black skirt and a bra. And the necklace he gave her all those years ago. Still makes him smile that she hardly ever takes it off. “When I had to pack up the _Thunderclap_ a couple years back, I had to go through all your clothes.”

“I did not,” Wynneth says, clearly picking up where the conversation is going.

Jorgan nods. “You did. Seventeen blasted hoodies. Nine of them were Republic Army ones alone,” he says as he walks to his duffel bag. “Donated all of them except one.” He pulls out a garish orange hoodie with white trim. Her Havoc squad hoodie, the only one he didn’t part with. It had been big on her, which meant it fit him just fine. Well, almost fine. A little snug, maybe. But for more than two years he used that hoodie whenever he had the chance. Damn thing helped him get through a couple of bad nights, but now it should go back to its owner. “Here.”

She walks over to him, biting her lower lip. Jorgan places the hoodie in her hands, but she shakes her head. “Keep it,” she says, her voice soft. “You’ll be going back to Zakuul in a few days. Swamp gets awfully chilly at night.”

“Appreciate it,” Jorgan says, finding her hands through the thick cotton fabric. Part of him wishes he took longer to get dressed after they cleaned themselves up after sex. But he’s in a pair of trousers and a button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, ready for the evening they promised themselves. An evening free from work and the war, giving themselves the chance to simply relax for a night. If he took more time, he could drag Wynneth back to bed, not caring if they’re late meeting everyone at the cantina. At least there will be time for more of that after the evening ends.

Wynneth tilts her head. “Makes me think, our storage locker on Coruscant-"

“Before Havoc left for Zakuul, I paid ten years in advance,” Jorgan says, thinking of that locker. Almost all of their important possessions are there. No doubt the Republic’s frozen his known bank accounts by now, but hopefully they’ll leave the locker alone.

“Good thinking,” she says, walking over to the bed. “Strange to think we’re probably broke, aren’t we?” She pulls on a light blue v-neck sweater, giving him a beautiful view of her collar bones. “I don’t like being so dependent on the Alliance.”

Jorgan coughs. “Well, actually we’re not broke,” he says. When they married, Wynneth gave him full reign over their finances, a chore he’s never minded. Since they had no permanent address, they never had many bills to pay, so they could build up their savings. “I might have liquidated most of our assets before I left for Zakuul.” He fishes out a data chip from one of the pockets of his duffel bag and hands it to her. “And this might have information about an anonymous bank account where those assets found a home. I’ll contact Balkar tomorrow, make sure you have access.”

“Balkar set this up for you?” Wynneth asks, slipping the chip into a nearby holopad. Her eyebrows raise when she looks at the screen, and Jorgan can’t help but feel a bit of pride. “Aric Nessar Jorgan, how in stars’ name do we have this many credits?”

“Your life insurance, to start,” Jorgan says, “but I will gladly give every credit of that back to the Republic.”

“This is way more than my life insurance policy. What aren’t you telling me?”

He moves to the bed and sits down, inhaling deeply, smelling their sex from earlier. Leaning his forearms on his knees, he says, “I was in bad shape after you disappeared, Winnie. Pissed off a room full of generals at once point, insisting you were alive.” Wynneth sits next to him then, her hand on his shoulder. “Told you I almost got a psych discharge. Only reason I didn’t is I agreed to have weekly sessions with a therapist.”

“Not a bad compromise,” she says, leaning against him.

“Agreed,” Jorgan says. “But since Havoc was in the field so often, trying to meet someone in person or even a holocall was impossible. So Dorne agreed to fill in. Said I should find a hobby that didn’t remind me of you. So I started playing the stock market a bit. And those were our sessions. I’d research the markets and she’d write reports. Actually worked really well until they forced Dorne out.”

Wynneth lets out a low whistle. “Aric Jorgan, financial genius. I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well, the markets have been shit the last two years, thanks to the embargoes taking full effect. I barely made anything,” Jorgan admits. “And now I don’t want to risk getting caught trading, in case it leads back here.”

“Time to find a new hobby, then,” Wynneth says, standing up. She walks to the dresser - Jorgan just knows she’s swaying her hips like that on purpose - and picks up her hair band, quickly putting up her hair. “Maybe you can finally learn to cook. Make me that dinner I dreamed about all those years ago.”

Jorgan lets out a snort. “Somehow I doubt we’ll have all that much free time,” Jorgan says. Wynneth nods absently and he knows she has something else on her mind. “Winnie?”

She shakes her head and leans against the dresser, hands behind her back. It’s such a simple move, but Jorgan finds he can’t keep his eyes off her. There’s a part of him, deep down in his gut, that hardly believes Wynneth’s actually alive. Even with the physical proof in front of him, not to mention the slight soreness in his groin - maybe trying to make up for five years of sex in less than a week _wasn_ _’t_ the best idea he’s ever had - he keeps waiting for the other claw to come unsheathed.

“I got most of the story from Forex, but Theron says he has no idea where Elara is,” Wynneth says. “You think you could ask Jonas tomorrow?”

“I think Balkar knows exactly where she is but isn’t telling us for her safety,” Jorgan says, with a sigh. So many damn secrets. “If I had to guess? They sent her back to Imperial Space.”

Her mouth settles into a soft o of surprise as she starts to play with her necklace. “And Elara would absolutely agree, wouldn’t she? Maybe Lana can have better luck finding her.” Eyes narrow as she takes a sharp breath through her nose. “Speaking of, I’m going to say something to Lana tonight. I cannot _believe_ she didn’t let you know I was alive.” Wynneth starts pacing and Jorgan knows he should stop her rant before it starts. It’s supposed to be their night to relax, after all. But he’s just as upset about the whole thing, so he can’t imagine just a little ranting will hurt too much. “All she did before we came to Odessen is preach trust and cooperation and she was lying to me the entire time. To my _face._ _”_

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Jorgan says, standing up. Wynneth relaxes the moment he puts his hands on her hips. “You want to say something tonight, fine by me. I’ll be right there next to you.”

She kisses him so hard he’s barely able to breath. All he’s able to do is grip her hips and try not to unsheathe his claws. Not while she’s wearing a nice skirt, at least. “What was that for?” Jorgan asks, resting his brow against hers while he stretches his jaw.

“Because I can,” Wynneth says quietly, and Jorgan understands the sentiment completely. “Bed was awfully big without you.”

His stomach twists, knowing that bed will be just as big in a couple of days. But he needs to go back to Zakuul, to train the rebels with the rest of Havoc. At least Jorgan knows she’s alive, seen her with his own two eyes, touched her with his hands, loved her with every ounce of strength he possesses. Will make those nights alone on Zakuul that much easier to bear.

“Winnie…”

Her lips brush his again and she whispers, “So let’s just enjoy this while we can, right?”

“Right,” Jorgan says.

She breaks away then and grabs his hand. “You know I hate being late to parties.”

The door opens, and out of habit, Jorgan starts to move away his hand. Not wanting to cause a stir and all that. But why not? They’re not Republic any more. Scratch that. They’re not Republic _Army_ any more. Big difference there. There’s no doubt in his mind that they’ll both continue to work for the people of the Republic until the day they die. So a little hand holding in public when they’re off duty won’t hurt anyone.

And the smile on Wynneth’s face when she realizes he’s not letting go is absolutely worth it. “Come on,” Jorgan says, picking up the pace. “Let’s go on a date.”


	5. Fugue

The cantina is loud, but not rowdy. The type of place that would have disappointed Jorgan twenty years ago, but as an old soldier, he can appreciate. This is a place where he can have a drink and actually enjoy the company of the people around him. Well, Wynneth’s company. The rest of them, besides Shan, he barely knows. But he’ll learn. He does like knowing the people he’ll fight and bleed with.

“There’s Lana,” Wynneth says softly.

The Sith is sitting at a table with Senya while Shan, Vortena, and a few other folk whose faces he recognizes, but has no idea who they are, or what they do in the Alliance. “Get this over with?” Jorgan asks, content to following his wife’s lead here.

Wynneth gives a quick nod, one more appropriate for the battlefield instead of a cantina and they walk over to the table.

“Senya, may I have a word with Lana privately?” Wynneth asks, her voice calm to anyone other than him. Jorgan hears the fire underneath her words.

“Of course,” Senya says, standing. Without another word, she walks off to the front of the cantina.

As Jorgan and Wynneth sit down, Lana folds her hands in front of her, looking utterly unflappable. For some reason, the demeanor pisses him off, makes the fur rise at the back of his neck. “I’ve been expecting this conversation,” Lana says.

“I think we’d both like some answers,” Wynneth says, and Jorgan finds it hard not to agree. He thinks about the last two years, how much easier they would have been if he knew his wife was alive, even if frozen in carbonite.

Lana takes a breath, clearly steeling herself for a fight. To his surprise, she directs her comment directly to him. “I made a decision, Major, a calculated one, not to inform you. I’ll say this now, Theron disagreed with me and thought you should be told.”

“But?” Wynneth says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Secrecy was vital,” Lana says. “If Arcann got wind what was happening, he would have had the Commander moved, and it might have been years before we found her again.” She turns and looks at Wynneth. “By then, you would have been dead. You were practically dead when we got you out.”

Jorgan’s stomach turns. No one ever mentioned anything about Wynneth being ‘practically dead.’ But that’s a different conversation entirely. “So you’re saying you don’t trust me?” Jorgan asks, surprised at how much that bothers him. He thought about going to Lana to help search for Wynneth in the first place. Now he’s glad he never did.

“I do trust you,” Lana says at once, her focus back on him. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But at the time, I didn’t trust you to keep vital information from the Republic.” She fidgets with her hands, a move that seems unnatural coming from her. “I heard all about the ruckus you made about her KIA classification. Are you telling me that given the information that she was alive, you wouldn’t have run straight to the Republic Army leadership and said ‘I told you so?’”

He wants to bristle at the accusation, tell her in no way would he have done just that. So he thinks back to two years ago, when things seemed so bleak. It’s a time Jorgan would never want to revisit in his life. But he doesn’t have to, not when his wife is sitting beside him, close enough he can smell the subtle scent of her shampoo.

“I don’t know,” Jorgan finally says. “If you took the time to explain, I probably wouldn’t have.”

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you, because I don’t feel like that I did was wrong. But I will apologize to you, Commander,” Lana says. “When we were on Zakuul I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell you the whole truth about your husband’s whereabouts.”

Jorgan reaches out and put his hand on Wynneth’s thigh, grateful for the cover of the table. She looks like she could use a bit of moral support at the moment. “Three months,” Wynneth says, breathing through her nose. He squeezes her thigh to calm her a bit. The last thing there needs to be is a rift between Wynneth and Lana. “All you had to do was say ‘Your husband’s alive, but we can’t contact him right now for security reasons,’ and I would have understood.”

Lana folds her hands on the table in front of her and takes a breath. “I should have,” she says finally, looking Wynneth in the eye. “And that I didn’t was unworthy of me. I worried you would be more concerned about reuniting with him than focusing on the Alliance.”

Wynneth stands up so quickly that the table shakes. Her hands are curled into fists and Jorgan wants to says something to relieve the tension that’s sprung up around them. But he can’t think of a damn word. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Lord Beniko,” she says and he almost winces at the coldness in her voice, “that you simply underestimated us because we’re Republic and these weren’t personal slights.”

Without another word, Wynneth marches off, heading to the other side of the cantina towards Theron and Koth.

“Theron told me she was angry, but that even went worse than I imagined,” Lana says with a sigh.

He shrugs, concentrating on the paper napkin in front of him. Needing something to do, he starts tearing off the sides. “What did you expect, Lana? For us to thank you for lying to us?”

“I didn’t-”

“But you didn’t tell us the truth,” Jorgan says, holding up a hand. “Maybe that works on your side of the aisle, but if you really want to create an Alliance where there’s mutual trust, maybe you should act like it.” He’s got nothing more to say and every minute here is one minute less with his wife. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Jorgan heads over to the table where Wynneth’s standing and raises a brow as she throws back a shot. “What are we drinking?” he asks, sliding his hand around her waist and settling on her hip. Normally he doesn’t indulge in this type of display, but they’re both wearing civilian clothes, drinking in a cantina. When better to indulge?

A smile flits across her face as she bumps her shoulder against his. “Some sort of generic whiskey. You’ll hate it.”

“Perfect. I’ll take two,” Jorgan says.

Koth laughs and pours a shot. “No, really. Wait before asking for seconds. It’s really awful.”

Holding up the shot glass in a mock toast, Jorgan says, “Here goes nothing.” He throws back the drink, and almost has to cough it down. “Blast, that is truly terrible. Winnie, I’m sorry, I’m going back to Zakuul. Call me when you get some decent booze in this place.”

She starts to laugh, and the stress from the confrontation with Lana all but disappears from her face. “I can’t have you running out of here because I can’t keep a well-stocked cantina, can I? I’ll talk to Hylo. Maybe find a few bottles of Rodian Ale for you.”

“You want another?” Koth asks.

“Absolutely,” Jorgan says, putting down the shot glass. While it’s being filled, he just looks at Wynneth. He forgot how grey her eyes are, how they seemed to reflect the light. During the past five years, he could barely stand to look at a holo of her, the ache never ending, thinking he’d spend the rest of his life alone. And now she’s looking back at him, and suddenly Jorgan’s not sure why they’re in the middle of a crowded cantina when they could be back in those very private, very quiet quarters of hers.

“Ahem,” Koth says with an exaggerated cough, causing Jorgan to look down at the table. As he slides the shot glass towards Jorgan, he glances at Theron. “These two always this lovey-dovey?”

Theron lets out a low chuckle, and Jorgan notices he seems to be sitting fairly close to Koth. He wonders what the story is there. “Absolutely not. But I’m gonna give them a pass on this one.”

“Good call,” Jorgan says, picking up the shot glass and drinking it in one swallow. Still awful. But the alcohol is already doing its job and he’s more relaxed than he can remember being in a long time.

From behind, Jorgan hears a well-remembered droid movement pattern. He turns and lets out a laugh. “Forex! I heard you were here.”

“Major! I cannot tell you how gratifying it is to see you. Leaving our beloved Republic must have been difficult, but I am certain you will quickly learn you have made the right decision,” Forex says, putting out his arms in welcome. “The future of the galaxy is in safe hands, thanks to our commander.”

Jorgan peeks over at Wynneth, who’s leaning in to him now, staring down at the floor. He wonders what’s making her uncomfortable, because something is. “It’s not just me, Forex,” Wynneth says, and things click into place. Forex has put Wynneth on a pedestal since the day he was assigned to Havoc, and it’s never sat right with her. “All of the Alliance is making a difference.”

“At first, it took some getting used to, seeing Imperials walk around freely, but once the Eternal Empire is defeated, we’ll have begun to plant the seeds for democracy and some day, we will watch it bear fruit across the galaxy,” Forex says.

“How’d you manage to get off of Coruscant?” Jorgan asks.

Wynneth places her hand on one of Forex’s arms. “It’s a thrilling tale, Aric, but I think a cantina is a little too loud to appreciate it properly.”

To the side, Koth and Theron both start trying not to laugh and Jorgan understands at once. Forex, wonderful a droid as he is, tends to go overboard when it comes to storytelling. They’d probably be here all night.

“A thrilling tale, indeed, sir! But perhaps tomorrow, when I am scheduled with the recruits, working on raising morale, I will tell the story of how I managed-”

“Tomorrow sounds great,” Jorgan says, raising his now empty shot glass in a mock salute.

“Very well, Major. I need to get back to my post - freedom’s work is never done - but I heard you were back and wanted to give my regards,” Forex says with a nod of its head, before heading out of the cantina.

Jorgan chuckled to himself. As strange as it sounds, Forex has been a good friend over the years. In fact, if not for the droid, it might have taken him and Wynneth that much longer to end up together. It wasn’t until Forex mentioned the coincidence that both their body temperature rose and their pupils dilated when they spoke with each other. Once Jorgan heard that? He finally decided to say something.

“You said Yuun was here, too, right?” Jorgan asks. He tried to stay in touch with Yuun once the Gand left the Republic Army, but once three messages in a row kicked back as undeliverable, he stopped trying.

“You know how he is about crowds,” Wynneth says. “I haven’t seen him in the cantina once. And… he’s having a rough go right now.”

Jorgan served with Yuun for years and can’t remember any problems during that time. “How so?”

“He feels like he failed, not finding me, especially when we were on Zakuul at the same time,” she says with a sigh. “He’s glad I’m out, but he’s upset that he wasn’t the one to find me. Yuun said something called him to Zakuul. He said he thought it was the Alliance, but now he knows it was me, apparently.” 

“I’ll talk to him,” Jorgan says with a shake of his head. “I told him when he left Havoc, it wasn’t his responsibility to find you.”

A silence falls over the table, one that Jorgan didn’t particularly feel the need to fill. A good sniper never worries about silence, and Jorgan is a _very_ good sniper.

“So has anyone actually come out and asked what it was like being in carbonite for five years?” Koth asks.

The question is awkward and clearly just designed to start a conversation. Koth would never make it as a sniper, Jorgan can all but guarantee that right now. Wynneth’s cheeks flush as the focus of the table turns toward her. Strange, for someone who could lead squads and armies, Jorgan knows how much she hates being the center of attention. Unless it’s just the two of them, of course. Then she never minds. But he hopes she answers the question, because honestly, he’s curious, too.

Once on Ord Mantell, during an op with another lieutenant, Iresso, he thinks the guy’s name was, Jorgan got sprayed with carbonite on his legs. Made the damn things fall asleep almost instantly and for a minute, he felt like he might never walk again. Thanks to spec ops training, he knows exactly what happens to people in carbonite, how the blood flow slows down to a crawl and the body is essentially frozen. But knowing the dirty details is completely different than hearing about it first hand.

“I just remember the dreams,” Wynneth says, and there’s just the slightest crack in her voice. Jorgan doubts anyone else hears it, but it’s there.

The last thing he wants is for the evening to turn maudlin, not when this might be their only night off for who knows how long. But then the jukebox changes songs, and the perfect distraction starts to play.

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I need to dance to his song,” Jorgan says, slipping his fingers through hers.

“Didn’t picture you two as the dancing type,” Theron says as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Played at our wedding ceremony on Coruscant. Saresh insisted that we dance. Woman has it out for me,” Wynneth says lightly. Jorgan’s relieved that the tiny sliver he heard is no where to be found. So hand in hand, they walk towards the dance floor.

Three other couples are dancing, which pleases him to no end. Last thing he wants is everyone staring at them. Even so, he leads Wynneth to the edge of the dance floor, where they might be slightly out of view. He places one hand on her hip, while she has one on his shoulder, leaving their other hands intertwined close between them.

Jorgan’s only danced like this a few times in his life; he much prefers the traditional Cathar dances he learned when he was young. Dances to the beat of a steady drum, bodies always moving, with chants intertwined. For the Cathar, dancing is a group experience, not one simply shared by two people. This is just swaying to music. But it’s swaying to music with the woman he loves more than he thinks is possible, so it can’t be all that bad.

“Those dreams still bothering you?” he asks just loud enough to be heard over the song.

She leans forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. “A little,” Wynneth says. “Been a lot better since you’re back.”

Nothing good to say comes to mind, so Jorgan does the only thing he can think of. He pulls Wynneth a little tighter and closes his eyes, simply enjoying the feeling of her body against his.

The song ends more quickly than he likes and is replaced by a quick, upbeat number. The Alliance couldn’t pay him enough to dance to this type of music. Wynneth seems to have the same idea and even as they break apart, they still stand close together.

“What do you think?” Wynneth asks. “Another hour? Then head back to the room?”

On the other side of the cantina, Theron and Koth are talking animatedly. Tora and that soldier, the big guy, stars, Jorgan can’t remember his name, are yelling at each other as they take shots. More soldiers, both Republic and Imperial are streaming in, and soon he has no doubt that he’ll barely be able to hear himself think. Fun as that might be, he thinks of all the fun he and Wynneth will be able to have in that nice and quiet room of hers.

Throwing his arm around Wynneth’s shoulder, he says, “Tell you what, make it forty-five minutes and you’ve got a deal.”


	6. Cantible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during their first full day on Odessen after coming back from Zakuul.

**Cantabile** : A style which is characterized by the easy and flowing tone of the composition.

#

The alarm goes off far too early in Wynneth’s opinion. “I hate that thing,” she mutters, wiping the sleep from her eyes as Aric turns off the alarm. Flopping on her back, she looks at her husband, who’s already sitting up on the side of the bed. “How’d you set it? Do we have time for sex or do we need to get up?”

“Sadly, we’ve got to get up,” Aric says as he stands. He’s naked, just like she is, and Wynneth lets her eyes linger on his shoulders and his chest. “I set the alarm for as late as possible.”

“Fine.” Wynneth throws the covers off of her and it takes far too much effort to sit up. She’s exhausted, thanks to how late they stayed up the night before, their first night together on Odessen. They gave themselves one night off, but today they’re back to being soldiers.

“What’s on your plate today?” Aric asks as he starts to dress in his armor. He sounds almost chipper. Bastard always was a morning person.

“Tactical planning,” Wynneth says with a yawn. “When you head back to Zakuul, Yuun and I are going to infiltrate the Star Fortress over Belsavis, see if we can’t take that fucker down.”

Aric chuckles as latches on his leg armor. “Yuun with you when you destroyed the one over Alderaan?”

Wynneth nods as she somehow manages to get out of bed. Stretching her arms over her head, she says, “Yuun was the first specialist we recruited to the Alliance, believe it or not. I bring him along as much as I can. Trust him a lot more than some of the others.”

“Well, I know you’re in good hands with him, if I can’t go with you,” Aric says as he sits down on the sofa to put on his boots. “I’d love to take one of those Star Fortresses down.”

“It’s a trip, that’s for sure,” she says, opening a drawer to look for a clean set of underwear. An errant thought, that she’d much rather have him stay here with her than go back to Zakuul in three days, crosses her mind. She pushes it away. The exiles need Havoc. And Havoc needs Aric. It’s only selfish of her to want otherwise.

She dresses in a makeshift military-looking outfit since there will only be meetings today, no time for drills or sparring. Once dressed, she sees Aric lounging on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table. “Can I do your hair?” he asks quietly.

“Of course.” Wynneth grabs a brush and her hair band from the top of the dresser. As she sits down on the floor in front of him, she says, “You need anything?” Her eyes close as he starts brushing her hair. “How’re your claws?”

“Could use a trim,” Aric says as he twists her hair into its usual bun. “No time right now, though.” A moment later he squeezes her shoulder. “All done.”

“Thank you,” Wynneth says, getting up off of the floor. Her body feels slightly sluggish. Maybe it’s all the sex and lying around in bed the last few days. Probably couldn’t hurt to go on a run later today, if there’s a chance.

Aric leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and his chin on his hands. His voice sounds casual as he asks, “Anywhere to buy latex gloves and lube on the base?”

“What’d you have in mind?” Wynneth says, a smile on her lips. Thanks to their respective biologies, those items aren’t needed unless someone’s ass is involved.

“Wouldn’t mind a prostate massage,” Aric says with a shrug.

Wynneth takes a step closer and leans down to give him a kiss. It’s soft and slow and her stomach tingles a bit in anticipation, at the thought of having Aric completely unravel in front of her. She will make him feel so damn _good_ tonight. “I think that can be arranged,” she says after she breaks the kiss. “There’s a trader who’s set up a bit of a convenience store. I’m almost positive she sells some. I’ll pick some up.”

“Sounds like we have a date tonight,” Aric says, holding out his hand.

Putting her hand in his, she helps him up. Once he’s standing, Wynneth doesn’t let go as they walk to the door. They’ll spend the entire day apart and already she doesn’t like it. They’ve been joined at the hip since being reunited on Zakuul and her stomach flutters a bit at the thought of not seeing him. It’s not like her, not at all. She’s never been one to be called clingy, usually wanting plenty of her own personal space, but perhaps this is to be expected after a forced five year separation.

Neither one of them make a move to open the door. Instead, Aric takes her other hand and pulls her in close. “Feel free to message me if you get bored during your meetings,” he says.

“You’ll be too busy training,” Wynneth says with a small laugh. “I think you’ll like Admiral Aygo. He’s done good work so far.”

Aric nods, and leans in for another kiss. Squeezing his hands, she says, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, pressing his hand against the console and opening the door.

Oh, so is she.

#

Where _is_ he?

Wynneth’s naked in bed, waiting for her husband to finish the training exercise he said would be over twenty minutes ago. The last thing she wants to do is seem like a nag and message him again. Perhaps some of the soldiers stopped him after the drill. Not like he could tell them he needed to leave so his wife could stick her finger up his ass.

The problem with being alone in bed is her eyelids feel so damn heavy. In the three months since Lana had her unfrozen, Wynneth’s barely had a chance to catch her breath. Only finding Aric has made everything somewhat bearable. She’s just so damn _tired._

Just a couple of minutes, she tells herself, bringing up the blanket, and settling on her side. She’ll just close her eyes until the door opens and then they can enjoy the rest of the night together. Only a few minutes…

“Wake up, babe.”

Her eyes open at once to see Aric, in a t-shirt and workout pants, sitting on the side of the bed. His fur looks slightly damp; he must have bathed before he arrived. “Shit,” she says, sitting up, causing the blanket to tumble off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to actually fall asleep.”

“You too tired? Need a rain check?” Aric asks, his hand stroking up her thigh.

“Absolutely not,” Wynneth says, scooting over so she’s sitting next to him. With a grin, she quickly puts his hand back on her thigh. “It was just a power nap.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “If you say so,” he says, his hand inching up her thigh. Wynneth closes her eyes as he leans in and presses his lips against her neck. “I see you got the goods.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says, thinking of the small bottle of lube and the box of gloves on the nightstand. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Without another word, Aric stands up, pulling off his top. Wynneth pulls down his pants and underwear, letting her eyes linger on his cock, already showing the start of an erection. The moment he’s naked, Wynneth lets him push her on her back while he settles on top of her. But he doesn’t kiss her or even make any move to touch her, really. Instead, Wynneth watches his face as he simply _looks_ at her.

It’s a look she’s seen often over the past few days, one that tells her he doesn’t quite believe she’s here with him, and it breaks her heart every fucking time. “Aric,” she whispers, wanting to remind him that yes, she’s truly here, and if it were up to her, she’d never leave him again. She knows better than to say those words, though. Soldiers rarely can keep promises like that.

He kisses her then, tongue in her mouth, while Wynneth rakes her nails down his back. There’s stress in his shoulders, and that won’t do at all, not when she needs him relaxed. “On your stomach,” she says before dragging her teeth down the side of his neck.

Wynneth grabs him a pillow as he rolls off of her and does just what she asks. Once he’s settled, she straddles his hips. Not wanting to waste any time, Wynneth digs her knuckles into Aric’s shoulders. He lets out a groan at once.

The man was not nearly this stressed last night. “What in the world did you do today?” she asks, putting her weight into each knead of his shoulders.

“Aygo and I started working on a new training regiment for your troops,” Aric says slowly. “And we just got to talking about the Republic and Saresh-”

“Let’s agree now never again to mention Saresh in bed,” Wynneth says with a laugh, dragging her nails down Aric’s back.

“Agreed,” Aric says, chuckling.

A comfortable silence settles over the room as Wynneth continues to massage his back, delighting in the various sounds Aric makes: a hiss when she hits a tender spot, a moan when a knot finally gives way, a slight purr when she digs in her nails.

She works until most of the stress has dissolved from his shoulders, leaving him nice and relaxed, the way she needs him to be. Moving off of him, she pats his ass. Aric takes the hint and rolls over onto his back. He’s hard now, and as Wynneth stands up, he puts his hand on his cock.

“No touching,” Wynneth says, swatting his hand away. “You know the rules.”

Aric leans his head back and sighs. “You are a cruel woman.”

“I’ll have you know I am very nice. Very, very nice,” she says. Biting her lower lip, she takes a latex glove from the box, along with the bottle of lube. She decides not to keep him waiting any longer, crawling up on the bed, kneeling between his spread legs, placing the items next to her. Using the palms of her hands, Wynneth strokes his thighs, coming closer to his cock each time. Then just as she can tell Aric thinks she’s going to touch him, she starts massaging his hips instead.

“Okay that’s just mean,” Aric says, blowing air through his lips.

“Just trying to make sure you’re completely relaxed,” Wynneth says, trying and failing to sound innocent. His hands curl into fists, and she decides it would be wise not to push him much further. Trying to hide her movements, she starts to put on the latex glove.

The sound of the gloves causes Aric’s breath to intake sharply. “Hate using those,” he grumbles.

Placing her ungloved hand on his thigh, she says, “It’s safer for both of us, you know that.”

“I know, I know-”

“And with the amount of lube I’m going to use, you won’t even feel it,” Wynneth promises. As much as she knows he enjoys this, Aric always puts up a fuss until she actually gets her finger inside of him. At least, that’s what happened the last time. Funny how it’s only six month ago in her head, but forever ago to Aric. She wonders how long time will feel disjointed between them.

The key is to distract Aric from what she’s doing, and talking about sex has never failed her once. “Remember the first time we had sex?” she asks, squeezing out a generous portion of lube on her finger. She brings her finger to his entrance and starts spreading the lube, making no move to actually insert her finger. His eyes close, but Wynneth digs the nails of her free hand into his thigh. “Eyes on me.”

He nods and meets her eye. “That first time? Stars, I figured there’d be a fifty-fifty chance you’d go along with the R&R or you’d say you never wanted to see me again.”

Laughing softly, she puts more lube on her finger. “I’d been hoping you’d make the move sooner rather than later,” she says. “With the whole CO thing, I didn’t feel like I could tell you just how bad I wanted to fuck you.” Her finger is back at his entrance and he fists the sheets with one hand. “Keep breathing with me.”

He matches her breaths, and she decides Aric’s as ready as he’s going to get. Wynneth turns her wrist, slowly inserting her forefinger into his ass. He sucks in a breath, clenching around her finger. That won’t do. Not at all, not when she needs him relaxed. Taking one of his hands with her free one, she rubs his palm with her thumb, and says quietly, “Do you have any idea how amazing you look right now, spread open for me like this?”

And it’s true. Aric has an arm above his head, legs wide open with his knees bent. He’s completely vulnerable, and that he trusts her like this means more than she can say. It’s also ridiculously hot, seeing him like this, and Wynneth feels desire pool between her legs. But she’ll worry about herself later. This time is for him.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking down at his cock. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The words are humble, but she can hear he’s pleased. He’s also relaxing, letting Wynneth hook her finger slightly, searching for the roundish shape. It takes a few more seconds than she likes before she finds it, but she does, and she simply rests her finger against his prostate. Aric throws back his head against the pillow, and says, “Oh, that’s it. _Fuck_ , I forgot how good this feels.”

With her free hand, she strokes his thigh, moving up to his stomach, before putting a bit more pressure on his prostate. “That okay?” she asks, not wanting to push him too far. Not yet, at least. She wants to tease him a bit.”

“Could really use your hand on my cock,” Aric says, propping himself up on his forearms.

“You sure?” Wynneth asks. Granted it’s more than five years ago at this point, but the last time they did this, she brought him to climax just using her finger. But that was then. This is now.

Aric nods and takes a deep breath. There’s already some pre-come dripping down his cock, so she runs her hand down his length before cupping his balls. “My _cock,_ woman.”

With a grin, she loosely wraps her hand around the base of his cock. He’s harder than usual, and she slowly starts to rub his prostate. Small strokes, but with enough pressure that Aric’s gritting his teeth. “Don’t hold back,” Wynneth says, stroking his cock firmly. “I love hearing you.” He takes another breath and a mix of a purr and growl comes out. “That’s it. Let me know how you feel.”

He shakes his head. “Gonna come soon.”

She’s certainly not ready for that, so she takes action, moving her hand from his cock to his thigh and lifting her finger inside of him. “Let’s make this last a little longer,” she says.

“Oh, that’s just cruel,” Aric says, catching his breath.

“You’ll thank me later, promise.”

Wynneth gives in slightly, putting slight pressure on his prostate again, but keeps her other hand off his cock. Instead, she plays with the necklace he gave her all those years ago, the one she never takes off if she can help it. Before she was frozen, she kept her wedding ring on the necklace, but once freed, Wynneth made the decision to wear the ring on her finger. It’s a pain when she puts on gloves for her armor, but it’s worth it when she looks down and sees the thin silver band.

“Winnie,” Aric says, his voice somewhere between pleading and begging, and she smiles.

Not wanting to tease him any longer, Wynneth firmly grips the base of his cock and strokes. As she does, she rubs his prostrate with more pressure than before. Her coordination is off slightly, trying to move both hands in tandem, so she sets the rhythm with the finger inside him, and slows down her hand on his cock to match.

It doesn’t take long at all to push him to his limits. She feels the start of his orgasm before she hears it, thanks to the way his clenches around her finger. But then he lets out a shout, something in Catharese she doesn’t recognize.

And then he starts to come.

His head is thrown back as he moans, louder than she expects, come splattering across his stomach. With her free hand, Wynneth strokes him, trying to make this last as long as possible. Her finger stays pressed against his prostate, and the come doesn’t stop.

She keeps this up, pressing her own thighs together, desperately wanting to feel her own sort of relief, watching him like this. Only when his mutterings and moans turn into a purr, and Aric flops back onto the pillow, does she stop. “You’re good?” she asks, smirking, as she slips her finger out of his ass.

“As if you didn’t know,” Aric says with a snort, covering his eyes with one of his forearms. His breathing is still slightly labored as he adds, “Stars, that was good.”

“Let me clean you up a bit,” Wynneth says, looking at the pool of come on his stomach. If it’s not cleaned up right away, it could dry in his fur and that’s a something she doesn’t need right now.

Thankfully, she’s prepared, and quickly takes off the latex glove, throwing it to the floor, before grabbing a towel from the nightstand. She wipes up the come as best she can, and drops the towel on the floor. Maybe Wynneth will regret it, but she’ll pick up everything in the morning.

Aric turns to his side, kicking the bottle of lube off the bed. “Think the cleaning droid will be pissed at us tomorrow?” he asks, patting the space next to him.

She takes the hint and lays on her side, so her back is flush with his chest. “Nah. I’ll be discreet, though I’m sure everyone on the base knows we’re fucking like wompa rats this week.”

“True.” Wynneth closes her eyes as he palms her breast. “Speaking of, I just need a little time to recover,” Aric says, cauing her to bite her lip as his hand slides down her belly to the coarser hairs of her cunt. “Then I’m eating you out until you can’t see straight. So at least an hour. Maybe two.”

“Mmm, I’d like that,” she says, pressing back against him. She’ll never say no to Aric going down on her. Never. “It’s a date.”


	7. Elegy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during chapter eleven, on Odessen

**Elegy:** An instrumental lament for the dead

#

It’s the middle of the night when Jorgan wakes, traces of a dream clouding his head. Even with only a dim light from a console across the room, he sees his wife isn’t in bed beside him. Reaching over, he feels the warmth from her body lingering on the sheets, a reminder she’s here somewhere, even if she’s not where she’s supposed to be right now.

Hopefully this worry, this fear, or whatever it is, when he doesn’t know where she is will disappear soon. He supposes it’s expected, thinking her dead for five years. Hard to get out of that habit after just five days since being reunited. And in three days, he’ll be leaving for Zakuul, and leaving her behind. Sometimes Jorgan wonders if he’ll actually be able to get on the transport when the time comes.

The door to the fresher opens, and Jorgan relaxes, seeing Wynneth walk out. She’s naked, just like he is, and Jorgan lets himself stare at the curve of her breasts as she walks.

“Did I wake you?” Wynneth asks softly as she gets back into bed.

Jorgan shakes his head, scooting over as he extends his arm across the bottom of her pillow, hoping she’ll take the hint. She does, and he lets out a contented sigh as she cuddles up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Placing his hand on her hip, his fingers drift back and forth, enjoying her soft skin. Amazing how he worried once human skin would be too strange for him, a turn off, when all he ever experienced in his life before her was hide and fur of Cathar women.

Now? Now he can’t imagine anything _but_ skin under his palms.

Wynneth starts to run her nails over his stomach and Jorgan doesn’t even try to stop the quiet purr that escapes from the back of his throat. “Someone’s happy,” she says, pressing closer against him.

“How can I not be?” Jorgan asks, keeping his voice low to match the quiet of the room. “I’ve got my girl and a real enemy to fight. Can’t ask for more than that.” Tilting his head, he rubs his cheek against Wynneth’s brow, a Cathar gesture of affection. He’s not ready to go back to sleep, not yet, even though he knows he needs some. He’s got an early morning, training the troops with Aygo. So he keeps talking. “Think this is what I missed the most.”

 “Not the sex?” she asks, and he hears the slight smirk in her voice.

Chuckling, he says, “Of _course_ I missed the sex. But…” His voice turns serious. “But I can live without it. When I really accepted your death, I knew I wouldn’t have sex again.” Jorgan’s not sure he can describe it. How can he tell her there were nights when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, desperate simply to feel her hand in his? “I missed _you._ This. I don’t know, you know I’ve got no way with words.”

She’s suddenly quiet next to him, her hand still, and Jorgan doesn’t like the way she breathes in heavily once through her nose. Not like her. “Credit for your thoughts,” he says quietly.

Wynneth flops on her back, staring straight up. “I think about everything you went through these past five years… And I get so _angry._ ” Her voice is calm, which worries Jorgan even more. Turning to his side, he puts his hand on top of hers. “And you know that’s not like me.”

“No,” Jorgan says. There are a lot of words he’d use to describe his wife. Determined. Stubborn. Strong. Angry isn’t one he’d ever use. And he’s seen her at her worst. Even when they dealt with the original Havoc traitors or Eclipse Squad, she never was _angry._ “It’s not.”

Silence blankets the room and Jorgan wets his lips, trying to figure out just how to phrase his next question. Turns out, he doesn’t need to.

“What if it’s _him_?” Wynneth asks, so quietly Jorgan would have missed it if not for Cathar hearing.

His eyes close, wondering the same thing. Valkorian is a slippery son of a bitch; biding his time, waiting for Wynneth to let her guard down, and take her over like Master Surro would be _exactly_ the type of thing he’d do. What chance could a mere soldier, even one as good as his wife, have against that sort of power?

“I sense him sometimes,” She says and there’s fear in her words. “Even when he’s not talking, I still know he’s there. Waiting.” She squeezes his hand, almost hard enough to hurt, and Jorgan finds himself holding on just as hard. “Do you remember the Nightmare Lands on Voss?”

How could he not? They were still figuring out their relationship throughout the op on Voss, trying to avoid looking at each other too long, knowing Senator Evran could see everything through their camera armor. Jorgan knew he cared for Wynneth back then, but one specific moment made him realize he wanted them to live through the war and grow old together. “Agent Kellor?” he asks, not bothering to keep out the dismay out of his voice.

She moves to her side, so they’re face to face, neither one letting go of the other’s hand. Even in the darkness of the room, he could still see the anguish on her face. “You promised me then…”

That was the moment, watching Agent Kellor die, driven mad by the Nightmare Lands. All she said to him was _I hope I don_ _’t go down like that_ and Jorgan’s whole world changed. A warm flutter started in his chest and he spoke before he could even process what he was saying. _You won_ _’t,_ he told her, then. _Not on my watch._

Less than a year later, they walked into a temple on Rendili, their heads covered by the sacred cloth. Jorgan took her hand, and dragged one of his claws down her palm, hard enough to draw blood. Wynneth took his hand, and repeated the gesture, with a miniature dagger, since her human nails would never pierce the hide on his palm. Clasping their bloodied hands, they vowed in front of the Elders to honor and protect each other above all else.

And now, to fulfill that vow, Jorgan might have to kill his wife some day.

Because even if she’s not saying the words, Jorgan understands what she’s trying to say. If Valkorian becomes too much. If he takes control. If he forces her to do things against her will.

If. Always fucking if.

They’re soldiers. Fighting is in their blood. But Jorgan has no idea how to fight this sort of enemy. What good is he as a sniper if the priority one target is in his wife’s head? How can he fight that? Yet how can he not?

The silence threatens to overwhelm the room, so Jorgan lets go of Wynneth’s hand and pulls her in close, resting his chin on the top of her head, as he wraps his arms around her. “Winnie,” he says, and he’s surprised just how steady and sure his voice sounds. “I promise.”

She relaxes in his arms at once, her breath whispering against his neck, against the pulse of his heart. “Thank you.”


	8. Cavatina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during chapter 11, during the week Jorgan is on Odessen.

_My radio implant picks up these frequencies_ _… Know what? You do not want to know._

_#_

What a day, Theron thinks as he struggles out of his boots. What a long, stupid day.

All he did was read reports, trying to get a handle on the pulse of the base. Morale is up, thank to everyone being happy for the commander being reunited with her husband. Funny how much people like her, even Imperials have a grudging respect for her former leader of Havoc Squad. Too bad she can’t bottle that charisma up and sell it for creds. She’d be rich.

At least now Theron can simply rest for a bit. He’s thankful to be in his small bunk. It might be small, but at least it’s private. And some private time is exactly what he needs, just a chance to relax.

Theron brings up the interface to his implants on his holopad. A little music to help him fall asleep sounds just about right.

He starts flipping through stations, not happy with any of the choices, when the spy in him takes over. Switching the interface to eavesdrop mode, Theron settles on the mess hall. After just a few seconds of listening, he can tell no one’s there, so he start to go through his usual rotation around the base.

Nothing… snoring… nothing… And then suddenly Theron sits up straight, hearing the distinctive sound of two people kissing. “Well, hello there,” he mutters under his breath. “What have we here?”

He checks the interface to see which camera is picking up the sounds, and more importantly, if there’s a live feed. Hey, he’s made it clear to everyone on the base that the common areas might be watched. If people wanted to make out in front of a camera, who’s he to deny them the chance to be watched? But then he sees the label.

_Aric Jorgan Armor Cam_

“Shit.”

Theron sucks in a breath, knowing the right thing to do is to change the frequency. Now. Right now. Then in the morning, ask Jorgan to run a diagnostic on his cam, because it’s supposed to turn off the when he’s on the base.

That’s absolutely the right thing to do.

But then Theron hears Jorgan moan and decides that’s absolutely the last thing he _wants_ to do.

He shouldn’t be listening to this. He really shouldn’t be listening to Wynneth gasping as Jorgan does _something._

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about them like this before. Back on Rishi, when they were all in the safe house, Theron let his mind wander when he saw the two the of them sleeping in bed rolls side by side. As ridiculous as it sounds, he wants to think they have a good sex life.

Never thought he’d actually have a chance to find out for himself.

_We really need to get you out of these pants, Aric._

_Always trying to get me out of my clothes. One day, I_ _’m going to teach you the value of patience._ Jorgan makes a noise between a moan and a growl, making Theron wonder just what Wynneth did. _But not today._

Biting his lower lip, Theron unbuttons his trousers, just to relieve the pressure building. He’s not going to actually touch himself. He’s not. That would be disrespectful. And he’s just not.

There’s nothing particularly brilliant in their banter, but the familiarity, the comfort, between them leaves Theron wanting. He’s never had that type of relationship, really. Never had the chance to feel completely at ease with someone. It’s something he wouldn’t mind experiencing some day, finding that connection with another person. Koth’s face flashes inside his head and Theron thinks maybe one day. They’ve been flirting more and more lately. At least, Theron thinks it’s flirting. Okay, or more so hopes it’s flirting.

_Fuck,_ Wynneth moans and Theron closes his eyes tight, absolutely not picturing the commander of the Alliance and her husband naked in bed. Oh fine, he is. But in his defense, who wouldn’t in his situation? He’s seen Wynneth is civilian clothes. He can tell underneath that armor is a body worth appreciating.

And by the sound of her whimpering, plus the slick sound of her wetness, Theron can tell Jorgan must be appreciating that body right now. Thoroughly. The longer Jorgan works, the louder Wynneth becomes. Stars, if this type of enthusiasm is what Jorgan gets to hear on a regular basis, the Cathar is the luckiest son of a bitch in the galaxy.

Wynneth lets out another cry, this one longer, almost strangled, and Theron bites the inside of this cheek, trying to keep back his own moan. It’s then he realizes he’s slightly bucking his hips, his cock desperate for any sort of friction.

Guilt washes over him as he slips his cock through the slit in his underwear. He’s going to the void. He’s absolutely going to the void. How in the world will he ever be able to look at the two of them in the face again?

Yet he doesn’t change the frequency.

They’re talking in low enough voices that the cam isn’t picking up the words. Then they both start laughing, and Theron’s hit with such a wave of longing it almost hurts. He’s barely ever had the chance to laugh during sex. But damn if he wouldn’t like to try.

Theron grabs the bottle of lube off his nightstand and squeezes a generous amount in his hand. As the two of them get situated, he starts stroking his cock, slowly. Sounds like they’re having a playful argument of who gets to be on top, and Wynneth seems to be the winner. He can picture her sitting up, her hands splayed across Jorgan’s chest as she starts to move. He absolutely shouldn’t be picturing this in his mind, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

He’s seen Jorgan in underarmor plenty of times, but never naked. But from what he has seen, Theron’s definitely appreciated. Especially his ass, and the way his torso tapers to his waist. But he’s got to admit he’s mostly curious about Jorgan’s cock. Maybe someday he’ll be able to steal a glance in the showers. And then there’s Wynneth. Never seen her naked either, but _stars_ , the way her tits look in underarmor… 

He tries to time his strokes to the noises he hears, to the heavy sound of their breathing. They don’t seem to be in a hurry, taking their time together. It’s been longer than Theron wants to admit since he’s taken care of himself this way. Too much stress of being in charge of operations of an alliance this size. Most nights, he’s lucky if he changes into sleepwear before passing out.

Already pre-come is dripping down his cock, so Theron bites his lower lip and slows his strokes.

_Talk to me, Aric._

_Yes_ , Theron thinks to himself, _please talk to your wife, Jorgan_.

Jorgan lets out a groan, and Theron squeezes the base of his cock, taking a deep breath, trying to make this last. If Jorgan starts dirty talking and if Wynneth joins in? It’ll be game over for Theron far too quickly.

_You ever think of all the places we could fuck on the base? Bet if we wanted to, we could fuck in almost every room._

_Like we did on the_ Thunderclap.

_Damn right like we did on the_ Thunderclap. _Remember when Forex caught us in the weapons locker?_

Wynneth starts laughing at the same time Theron does. He can just picture the droid’s reaction, probably some bullshit about Republic leaders needing to relieve stress and him willing to stand guard until they finish. But Wynneth lets out a sudden yelp and Theron hears them moving around. He can’t quite figure out what’s going on and he would gladly donate his entire Alliance stipend (not that it’s much anyway) to actually hack a visual of what’s actually happening.

They seem to right themselves, and he can tell the pace is picking up, thanks to the sound of sex and their bodies slapping together. If he has to guess, they’re probably fucking bantha-style right now, and Theron can see it perfectly in his mind. Wynneth on her forearms and knees, her forehead resting against the mattress while Jorgan pounds her from behind.

Wynneth lets out a moan, and Jorgan says, _You like that?_ The cheesiness of the line makes Theron roll his eyes, even as he’s stroking in time to their fucking.

_Fuck, yes. Harder._ Please _._

Theron’s never been particularly good at following orders, but this one? He will gladly obey. His strokes speed up as he grips his cock even more tightly. There’s pressure in his balls, and fuck, he’s going to come soon, probably before they’re finished, but it doesn’t matter, because it just feels so _good_ …

He swears he whites out as he comes.

Wynneth wins the race, apparently, and starts to come just as Theron is trying to catch his breath. It’s absolutely beautiful to listen to. She’s moaning and crying out Jorgan’s name and it ends with the most glorious whimper that if he hadn’t spent himself already, would be enough. Jorgan’s only a couple of seconds behind, and almost as noisy as his wife, grunting and telling her how good he feels. And _that_ _’s_ almost enough to make him want to go again. Nosy men will always be Theron’s downfall.

They’re quiet for a moment. No talking, no moving, no anything, and Theron can’t help but hope they’re feeling as good as he is right now.

_Hey, come here._ Jorgan’s voice is soft and Theron simply closes his eyes, wanting to hear their pillow talk. Who wouldn’t be curious right? And it’s not like he can tell anyone anything that’s said. He can just picture how that’d go down. So I was listening to the commander and Major Jorgan having sex the other night… Yeah, not going to happen. _How bad_ _’s the blood?_

Wynneth lets out what sounds to be a contented sigh. _You_ _’ve done worse. It’ll clot up soon enough._

Theron raises his brow. He’s heard a bit about Cathar and blood play, but always assumed it’s a stereotype of some sort. Never actually thought it might true. Guess he’s learning all sorts of things tonight.

They start to kiss softly, and Theron takes the chance to clean himself up while they’re winding down. He keeps a box of tissues next to his bed for this very reason, though he hasn’t used nearly enough since he traveled to Odessen. That might need to change, because he feels almost relaxed. He heard about that sensation once. Didn’t ever think he might experience it himself.

But then Theron starts to tense up as he hears Jorgan say, worry lining his voice, _Winnie? Babe, what_ _’s wrong?_

_Everything_ is Wynneth’s response and Theron sucks in his breath. _They call me their leader, but I have no real power and how am I supposed-_

Without any hesitation, Theron cuts the feed, his heart beating wildly.

It’s one thing to listen to them having sex, a very different thing to hear the commander of the Alliance’s fears and doubts. Theron’s not above admitting he’s fallen for the destiny thing. Hook, line, and sinker. He needs Wynneth to be strong, to believe that they’ll triumph over Zakuul, so _he_ can believe they’ll triumph over Zakuul.

“Why did I do this?” Theron asks the empty room, tucking his cock back into his underwear. He tries to forget how hopeless Wynneth sounded when she said _Everything._ Thank the stars Jorgan’s here. If she didn’t have him, Theron doesn’t like to think of what sort of shape she might be in. “I should have just watched porn.”

He stares up at the ceiling of his room, wishing it didn’t feel so small, like the walls were crowding in on him. Of course, he could leave the room. With a glance at the chrono, he sees that it’s only twenty-two hundred hours. Plenty of people will still be at the cantina. Maybe Koth will still be at the cantina…

Decision made, Theron stands up and grabs his jacket. Tired as he might be, the night is young. And he has a connection he would very much like to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if I should make this canon or not. I'd like to think Theron wouldn't actually do this. But it makes good fic. :D


	9. Etude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapter Eleven, Disavowed. The main mission is over and Aric and Wynneth are on Odessen before he heads back to train the exiles.

**Etude:** A musical composition written solely to improve technique. Often performed for artistic interest.

#

The soldiers _do_ look tired.

Wynneth crosses her arms over her chest as she watches the combat drills. Steps aren’t quite as sharp. Focus seems a tad off. And everyone looks exhausted. Seeing it all in person convinces her that Hylo is absolutely right: Aric and Aygo must be stopped.

And it’s up to Wynneth to stop them.

The two soldiers talk excitedly to each other, supervising the recruits. She understands and can even appreciate Aric’s enthusiasm. Been a while since he’s fought for a cause he can absolutely believe in, one hundred percent. But at the end of the day, the men and women he’s sending through exercise after exercise are _her_ responsibility.

Separating them is key. But how to get Aric to leave the military hangar? Sex will be the best distraction. Though truth be told, she’s a little saddle sore, thanks to trying to make up for five years in the one short week they have together. Tomorrow, Aric will go back to Zakuul to train the exiles and she’ll go off to destroy the Star Fortress above Belsavis. Sore or not, Wynneth’s willing to sacrifice for the good of her people.

“Major Jorgan,” she calls out crisply in her best no-nonsense military voice. It’s a voice that expects to be obeyed and Aric wastes no time excusing himself and walking up to her, a puzzled look on his face.

“Commander,” he says, settling in a parade rest in front of her.

She takes a step into his personal space and says in a low voice, “Quarters in ten minutes.”

Aric sucks in his breath as his brow furrows, a conflict clearly brewing on his face. “Winnie, Aygo and I have a new drill to try out. We think it will increase the efficiency-”

“Do you want to run another drill or do you want me on my knees with your cock in my mouth?” Wynneth says, barely above a whisper. A familiar ache settles between her legs, and it takes more effort than she knew she possessed not to rub her thighs together for a little relief.

“Ten minutes,” Aric says, practically growling, as he turns on his heel.

_You_ ' _re welcome, Hylo._

#

Twelve minutes later, Wynneth’s sitting on the bed in her quarters, legs crossed at the knee, wearing only a tight fitting t-shirt and a pair of underwear. Back when she lived on the _Thunderclap_ , she had all sorts of nice sets of underwear. Most even matched. But here on Odessen, Wynneth only can choose from what various traders brought in to sell. Sadly, no one’s thought there might be a lingerie market among the members of the Alliance.

The door opens, and she stands, hands behind her back, sticking out her chest slightly. Aric practically stalks into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. His eyes don’t leave hers as he efficiently takes takes off his armor, piece by piece, until he’s only standing in a pair of boxer briefs.

A half of dozen steps later, he’s at her side, one arm around her waist, bringing her in flush against his chest. His other hand snakes through her hair, taking down the bun she always wears on duty. “Woman, you are trying to kill me.”

Wynneth opens her mouth to answer, but never has the chance. His lips press greedily against hers as he slides his tongue into her mouth. Her lips settle into a smirk against his; he only calls her ‘woman’ when he’s thoroughly distracted. One point for her.

There’s a tug on the hem of her shirt and Aric breaks off the kiss, only to say, “Off,” before slapping her on the ass, hard enough to sting.

“You’re in a mood today,” Wynneth says with a grin as she rubs her ass.

“You interrupted a training session on a day when I’ve been working the recruits since eight this morning,” Aric says, his eyes narrowing. “I know _exactly_ what you’re doing, Winnie.”

“You’re just mad because it’s working.”

“Damn right I am,” Aric says. Before she has a chance to respond, Aric brings her in for another kiss, but this time, he nudges his leg between hers. Wynneth can’t help but moan as he lifts his leg, causing her to rub her cunt against his thigh. The kiss ends and she holds onto the waistband of his boxer briefs as he whispers, “Now are you going to take off that shirt or am I going to have to do it for you?”

Wynneth makes the mistake of stepping away, already missing the pressure between her legs. “I like this shirt,” she says, quickly bringing it up over her head and throwing it on the ground. “There. All gone.”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says.

This time Wynneth doesn’t wait, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her breasts against him as they kiss, open-mouthed. Her nipples are hard almost at once, thanks to the way they rub against his chest. She’s about to get completely lost in the kiss, but then she feels a slight pull of her hair as she realizes he’s wrapping it around his hand.

“Now, I believe you said something about my cock in your mouth,” Aric says, grinding against her slightly, leaving Wynneth with no doubt he’s ready for just that.

Claws glide down the back of her neck and Wynneth breathes in deeply. With the way he has her hair in her hand, she is completely at his mercy at the moment, and she absolutely _loves_ it. “You want to sit or stand?” she asks, sliding her hands down the back of his boxer briefs, squeezing his ass with both hands.

“I’ll stand,” he says and the confidence in his voice makes her want to beg him to fuck her, to pin her to the mattress with her legs over his shoulders, and fuck her until she’s screaming his name _._ But that’s not the game right now, and if she did that, in thirty minutes, Aric would be back running drills with Aygo. No, she needs to make him boneless, to drain all his energy, and to make him not want to leave this room for hours.

Raising herself on her toes, Wynneth kisses him while pulling down his boxer briefs, touching everywhere except his cock, the one place she knows he wants her to touch more than anything. His erection pushes against her belly while he kicks the underwear out of the way.

Once he’s naked in front of her, she takes a moment to appreciate the view. Reaching out, Wynneth splays her hands across his chest, the thin layer of fur tickling her palms. Then taking a breath, she looks up, looking Aric right in the eye, and starts to lower herself to the ground.

He stops her, then, grabbing her wrists with his free hand. Aric reaches behind her and Wynneth smirks at the way he’s refusing to let go of her hair. A moment later, he hands her a pillow. At her hum of confusion, he says, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you favoring your left knee.” He drags a knuckle across her cheek and she can’t help but lean into his touch. “You really need to get that looked at.”

Heat rises to her cheeks, knowing he’s completely right. Her knee has been bothering her since they came back from Zakuul. She’s just been too busy to deal with it.

“There,” he says as Wynneth drops the pillow to the ground in front of her. “I’ll enjoy this a lot more knowing you’re not making things worse for your knee.”

“Very considerate of you,” she says with a smile.

“Someone’s got to watch your back,” Aric says, sounding serious as she’s ever heard.

Warmth pools in her stomach at her words. _This_ is what she missed so much in the three months after they let her out of carbonite. That rock solid feeling that Aric’s got her six, no matter the situation. Funny how a few minutes ago, she wanted him to fuck her into the mattress and now she wants to make love and never let him go. How does he _do_ that to her?

She settles for a quick kiss as she wraps her hand around the base of his cock. He moans into her mouth and Wynneth bends her knees, but stops when she feels a dull pull of her hair.

His claws are still extended, and he drags them over her scalp lightly. She tries lowering herself a little more, but Aric seems content to tug slightly on her hair. “Aric…” she says, her voice breathless.

“What do you want, Winnie?” he asks, and she needs to close her eyes as she feels his cock against her stomach.

She grabs his hips and rubs against him, once, then twice. “Your cock-”

“Got to ask nicer than that,” Aric says.

He pulls her hair once, and Wynneth bites her lower lip as she runs her hands down the back of his thighs. “Aric, I need to suck your cock, _please._ ”

“Much better,” he says and she can see the hint of a smirk on his lips. Bastard is having way too much fun with this. But there’s no doubt in her mind that Aric deserves all the fun she can give him. _Five years_ _…_ She pushes that thought away. Now is not the time to be upset over everything he went through since she disappeared.

The pressure at the back of her neck eases, and Wynneth takes the chance to settle herself on the ground, giving her a beautiful view of his cock. Cathar men aren’t as long as human men, from what she could tell, but they more than make up for it in girth.

She builds up some spit in her mouth, knowing for Aric, the wetter and sloppier the blow job, the better. She takes him into her mouth, just the tip, letting her tongue swirl around the head. Already he’s letting out a slight moan, so Wynneth hums as she wraps her hand around the base of his cock.

Her hair falls down over her shoulders and down her back and she wonders why Aric let go. She _hates_ getting hair in her mouth when she’s sucking him off. But then she feels him gather her hair up again, holding it all in one hand, resting on the top of her head. That will do. Just as long as it doesn’t get in her mouth.

She leans back slightly and starts to stroke his cock as she looks up. Aric is staring right at her, so she licks his cock from his balls up to the tip, before taking as much of him as she can in her mouth while hollowing her cheeks. Her scalp prickles; Aric must be curling his hand into a fist. But the slight pain makes her focus.

And then Aric thrusts into her mouth. She gags slightly - it’s been more than three months since she’s done this, after all - and when he starts to step back, Wynneth puts her hands on his hips and takes him in further, until she can feel his cock at the back of her throat. She stays there until he thrusts again and that’s enough to make her sit back slightly and start to cough.

“You okay?” Aric asks at once, wiping some of the spit from her chin with his free hand.

“You know I love this,” Wynneth says, her voice hoarse, as she leans forward and running her nails up the back of his calves and thighs. “Just a little out of practice.”

Aric lets out a chuckle, one that Wynneth recognizes as a dangerous one, and she presses her thighs together in anticipation. “Then best you get back to work,” Aric says, pulling her hair towards him, so she has no choice but to follow.

She takes as big a breath as she can before he’s in her mouth again, and this time, he doesn’t stop thrusting. He starts fucking her mouth, and all she can do is hold on to his hips, reveling in the wet, filthy sounds. When she needs to breathe, Wynneth digs her nails into his hips. Thankfully, after years together, Aric knows to back off, giving her just enough time to take a breath, before starting right back up again.

He’s muttering now, a strange combination of Basic and Catharese; Wynneth doesn’t even try to understand the words he’s saying. All of her focus is on Aric’s cock: the way it feels in her mouth, the warm taste of pre-come on her tongue, the way he smells of sex and that slightly metallic scent when he’s warm and flush.

There are tears in her eyes now; Aric’s holding her hair too tightly to be even close to comfortable, but she doesn’t stop him. No, she encourages him, putting the palms of her hands on his ass. He keeps thrusting, and Wynneth looks up at him.

The look on his face is so tender, even as he’s fucking her mouth, that she’s almost ready to come undone herself, just by rubbing her thighs together. He says something in Catharese, she’s not sure what, but she hears nothing but love and trust in his voice and she wants to say something back in kind. She tries to say _something_ , even with him in her mouth, and just the vibrations of her words is enough to make him go still.

His cock twitches, and she knows he’s about to come. To help him along, Wynneth grabs the base of his cock and squeezes while sucks as hard as she can. Aric practically growls as he starts to come. She swallows one spurt, then pulls back, stroking his cock, telling him how amazing he looks, how much she loves him, as he comes all over her breasts.

Once he’s done, Aric lets go of her hair and grabs on to her shoulder. “Fuck,” he says no louder than a whisper, breathing deeply. “That was… _Fuck._ ” He leans down and kisses her softly, and she’s sure he can taste himself on her tongue. When they break apart, he adds, “I need to sit down.”

_Perfect,_ Wynneth thinks to herself, watching as he flops back onto the bed, still trying to catch his breath. He turns to his side and grabs the box of tissues on the nightstand. “I’ll clean you up in a minute, Winnie,” he says, and she can hear the weariness in his voice.

“Just throw them here,” she tells him. If Aric gets out of bed, he might think he’s alert enough to go back to running drills. She expects him to argue, but instead he tosses the box of tissues to her, so it lands right next to her side, proving just how tired he must actually be.

In no time at all, Wynneth wipes off her breasts and throws away the tissues. The bed simply does look too inviting, so she sets a quick alarm which will wake them up in time for dinner. Aric moves over to give her room - he always likes sleeping next to a wall if he can help it - and she snuggles up to him as close as she can.

“You are a wicked, wicked woman,” Aric says, intertwining their fingers. “Your ploy worked, though. We gave the recruits the afternoon off.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wynneth says, trying to sound innocent. “I just wanted to give my husband a blow job.”

Aric snorts, and she grins at his clear disbelief. Maybe she had been a bit too obvious. But now he’s running his claws up and down her back while she traces nonsense patterns into the fur on his chest. As distractions go, she can’t think of a better one.


	10. Refrain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during chapter eleven, right after Jorgan's final appearance

**Refrain:** A repeating phrase that is played at the end of each verse in the song.

#

“You know where to find me? Really?”

Jorgan pauses and glances over at Wynneth, not quite meeting her gaze. But then he keeps packing, not that it will take long to fill up his duffel bag. “What about it?” he asks, trying to sound casual when he feels anything but. “We’ve got a secure holochannel now. We’ll be able to talk while I’m on Zakuul.”

Wynneth walks over to the bed, hands clasped tightly behind her back. “You weren’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you?”

There’s hurt in her voice, and Jorgan curses himself, annoyed that he made her think that for even a moment. “Of course not,” Jorgan say quietly. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he grabs her hands, bringing her close so she stands between his legs. “Just didn’t want a scene in front of everyone.”

“Fair enough,” Wynneth says, running the palm of her hand over the top of his head.

She’s wearing a BDU instead of armor, so Jorgan pulls her down so she’s sitting on his lap. “And maybe I’m just not looking forward to it,” he says, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll miss you.”

His lips find hers easily, and for a moment, he lets himself forget that in thirty minutes, he’ll be leaving Odessen, and his wife. Wynneth breaks away first. “I’ll miss you, too.” She starts to stand, but Jorgan has no desire to be apart, so brings her back down on his lap. “I’m too heavy to sit on your lap,” she says with a laugh, but Jorgan’s pleased she makes no move to leave.

“Maybe for a human,” Jorgan says, pressing his fingertips into her thigh. “Aren’t you lucky I’m Cathar?”

“Luckiest woman in the galaxy,” she says softly and Jorgan swallows, hearing the tears in her voice. Damn good thing they’re saying goodbye here in her quarters and not the military hangar. No one in the Alliance needs to see this. “This makes me realize how good we had it on the _Thunderclap._ _”_

“Yeah,” Jorgan says, thinking of all the military red tape they needed to fight to stay assigned to the same squad after they became a couple. At first, Garza wanted to reassign him, but Wynneth argued that even being the commander of a squad would seem like a demotion after being the Executive Officer of Havoc. And eventually, no one could argue with Havoc’s results, especially after capturing General Rakton, so he was allowed to stay.

For three years they fell asleep next to each other, woke up in the same bed, offered moral support and advice to the other. Now, who knows when they’ll see each other again? Zakuul is changing their orbital security and it’s not nearly as easy to make it to the surface now.

“I can’t even figure out how to say goodbye,” Wynneth says, leaning forward as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. The move lets Jorgan press his cheek against hers. “I want to tell you to be safe or be careful, but I know you can’t promise that.”

Closing his eyes, Jorgan tightens his hold around her waist. “You can’t promise that, either,” he says softly. How can she, with Valkorian in her head, threatening to abuse his power at every turn. “How’s this?” He leans back and meets Wynneth’s eye. “Let’s play it smart.”

He can almost hear her turning over the word in her head. “I like it,” she says finally.

A warmth starts to spread through his belly, moving lower, but Jorgan needs to shut that down. There’s no time for that, sadly. “Good,” he says.

“Do you want me in the hangar when you leave?” she asks.

“Would you be there if I wasn’t there? If it were just a scheduled run to Zakuul?” he asks. He doesn’t want any sort of special treatment, not even if it means a couple of extra minutes with his wife. They wouldn’t be quality minutes, at least, not with all the madness of the ship’s departure in the middle of the hangar bay. Wynneth shakes her head, like he expects. “Then let’s finish saying goodbye here.”

He’s not sure who moved first, he probably did, but they start to kiss as if it’s the only thing keeping the planet in orbit. They’re both breathing heavy when they break apart. His eyes close as she rests her palm against his cheek. He’s going to miss her so damn much, and the very real thought crosses his mind that Jorgan might not see her again after this. It happened last time, didn’t it? Five years he lived without her.

And if that happens again… “I love you, Winnie,” he whispers, letting the words brand his thoughts. When she disappeared before, he lay awake at night, haunted, not able to remember the last time he said those words to her. He’s never said them nearly enough to her.

A delighted smile crosses her face and she kisses him softly. “I love you, too,” she says. She’s always been freer with the words, telling him often, and to his relief, never worrying when he didn’t reply in kind. He always did prefer to show her, rather than tell her, his feelings.

Wynneth stands, though keeps their fingers intertwined. “I’ll let you finish packing,” she says. “Message me when you arrive back at the camp?”

He nods before standing up. “Will do.”

“Then I guess this is it,” she says and Jorgan can hear her trying to mask the sadness in her voice and he appreciates it more than he can say. “Play it smart.”

The words are on the tip of his tongue, but her lips look too damn inviting. Jorgan kisses her again, a short kiss, one with every ounce of energy he has. Resting his brow against hers, he repeats, “Play it smart.”

One last squeeze of her hands, and Wynneth turns away. He watches every step she takes to the door. Once there, his heart clenches as she smiles back at him before slipping out of her quarters. Jorgan gives himself a moment of self-pity, just one, then turns to his duffel. Time to finish packing.


	11. Intervals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapter eleven and twelve.

**Intervals:** The distance in pitch between two notes

#

It’s worse than waiting for a kettle to boil. Wynneth stares at her holocom, waiting for the signal that Aric is on the other line. She blinks, and suddenly he’s there on the com in front of her. The tightness in her chest eases and just seeing his face is enough to calm her after the fucking day she’s had. After taking down the Star Fortress above Alderaan so easily a month ago, the team all assumed Belsavis would be more of the same.

They were all fucking wrong on that count.

Aric’s sitting on the ground, probably in his tent, in Havoc’s camp on Zakuul. “About damn time,” he says and there’s a harshness to his voice. “I expected a check-in eighteen hours ago. Had me worried there.”

Leaning back on her hands, Wynneth lets out a sigh. The last thing she wants to do is worry him. “I know,” she says. “I’m sorry. Mission went a bit sideways.”

His eyes dart up and down her body and Wynneth smiles in spite of herself, knowing he’s checking for injuries. No doubt she looks awful, the way she feels right now, but at least she’s comfortable, safe in her private bunk on the ship on the way back to Odessen, wearing a tank top and sleep shorts. Aric, sadly, doesn’t look nearly as comfortable in his underarmor.

“What’s wrong with your neck?” he asks.

Somehow she’s resists the temptation to rub the back of the neck, knowing it would only aggravate her injury. “That’s the part that went sideways,” she says. She looks at the floor, ashamed of what she’s about to admit. “Yuun and I were captured. But we-”

“That’s a slave collar mark.”

The venom in his voice makes her wince. She nods once, not willing to lie to him, and tries not to think of the humiliation she felt when she woke up to feel the heavy collar on the back of her neck.

Aric jumps to his feet, his hands curled into fists. He starts to pace in the small tent, shoulders hunched since there’s not enough room to stand up straight. Even though there are thousands of light years between them, Wynneth can almost feel the energy radiating off of him. “They put you, _my wife_ , in a slave collar.”

Wynneth can’t think of anything to say to that, because frankly, what should she say? Cathar women have been prized slaves for hundreds of years, Cathar men are considered prime gladiators, and more often than not, their captors are human, just like her. The indignity of wearing a slave collar for a few hours is nothing compared to what his people continually suffer. And she will not act like the two are even remotely similar. They both deserve better than that.

The pacing stops and Aric runs his hand over his face. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m _fine-_ _”_

“Did you gut the bastards who did this to you?”

A chuckle escapes her lips before she can stop it. He just sounds so _serious._ And she supposes it is. Serious. But she just spent more than twenty-four hours on a Star Fortress and she’s really fucking tired _._ “They’re all dead, I promise,” she says. “I’ve got a little ligament damage, but nothing that a session of kolto therapy won’t cure once we’re back at the base.”

Aric settles himself on the ground, cross-legged. “You want me to come back to Odessen?”

“For ligament damage? Aric, come on,” Wynneth says, shaking her head. Truth be told, she’d love to see him again, even though it’s only been five days since he left for Zakuul and she headed to Belsavis. But a minor injury, one that would be healed by the time he made it back to Odessen, seems like a waste of a trip.

He holds up his hands in apology. “I know, I know… Winnie, it’s just-” Aric pauses and takes a breath, his eyes closing. “That was a long eighteen hours.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, bringing up a knee and hugging it to her chest. She tries to reverse their positions in her head, wondering what she’d be like if she expected a call and it never came. He’s probably taking it better than she would. “Be better or worse not to know mission start times? Just check-in when it’s over?”

“Then you’ll feel like you can’t talk about what’s coming up next,” Aric says, blowing out air through his lips. “Think Shan could message- Nah, he doesn’t need to get involved.” He reaches out towards the holocom receiver, and Wynneth mimics the move, so it looks like their fingers are touching. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”

Lowering her hand, Wynneth looks away. “I’ll try,” she says, not able to stop the words from tumbling out. Try is the best she can offer. They’re both old hands at this game. She’ll never insult Aric be saying it won’t happen again.

She knows better than to make promises she can’t keep.


	12. Dissonence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after chapter 13. Spoilers for that chapter.

**Dissonence:** Harsh, discordant, and lack of harmony. Also a chord that sounds incomplete until it resolves itself on a harmonious chord.

#

The coffins behind him weigh on his shoulders, but Jorgan puts his focus on his wife. The deaths are his fault; he’s the one who suggested a training mission into the Spire itself with some of the Exiles. When he goes back to Zakuul, they’ll take the bodies with them, find out from Pasha what their burial customs are. Hopefully they haven’t done anything wrong by using Republic coffins. Havoc couldn’t just leave the Exiles there in the Spire, after all.

Wynneth takes a step closer and Jorgan can just tell she’s going to offer him some sort of sympathetic word. He can’t handle that. Not now. Not even from _her._ At least not in front of a military hangar full of people. He turns away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. No doubt she feels the deaths just as keenly; the mission went sideways once she disappeared, after all.

“Do you have a casualty list?” she asks. Her voice is one of a commanding officer, not his wife, which might be exactly what he needs right now.

“Four Exiles were killed, sir,” Jorgan says crisply. He doesn’t list them by name, but instead recites them in his head: Vera Feyet, Dobson Tsai, Elcot Kami, and Zari Ben.

“And Havoc?”

Jorgan looks down at his wife. She’s stand at parade rest, looking out of the open hangar door. “They’re on base. I’ve given them twenty-four leave. They’ve earned some rest.” He takes a deep breath, knowing his next request won’t be easy for either of them. “Permission to go back to Zakuul as soon as possible, sir, so we can bring the Exiles’ bodies home.”

Next to him, Wynneth closes her eyes and swallows. “Granted, on one condition. You take the same leave as Havoc.”

“I don’t need-” She looks at him then, her face fierce, and Jorgan holds up his hands. “Twelve hours.”

“This is not negotiable, Major,” Wynneth says sharply. “You just escaped after being in enemy territory for over a week. You lost four men under your command, plus you had to deal with me going AWOL. You are on leave for twenty-four hours.”

At the mere mention of how she disappeared, Jorgan feels his temper flare. No one bothered to brief him about where she went on his way back to Odessen and he needs answers, damnit. “And are we going to talk about that?” he asks, breathing heavily through his nose.

She takes a step closer, invading his personal space, and Jorgan plants his feet to the floor. They haven’t touched once since she walked into the hangar, and if he’s completely honest, all he wants is to bury himself in her to forget this grief, this simmer of rage building in his core. He’s lost soldiers under his commander before - no one gets to the rank of Major without knowing how to craft just the right letter of condolence - but this is different. All the Exiles want is better lives for themselves and their families. And he got four of them killed.

“Do you really want to have that conversation here?” she asks.

Absolutely not. “Fine,” Jorgan says between clenched teeth. “Quarters, ten minutes.”

Wynneth nods, and just like that, she shrugs off the mantle of the commander of the Alliance. There’s stress in the lines of her shoulders and a tightness to her face, which worries him. She walks off, but not before brushing her hand against his. It doesn’t sit right; he expected a push back of some sort, not this defeated acceptance.

He watches her walk away, and shakes his head. Is it too much to ask for a reunion without the fate of the galaxy looming over their heads? As he unclasps his sniper rifle from his harness, Jorgan sees Djannis watching him, and wonders how much she overheard. He meets her gaze and she rolls her eyes. “Just go get laid, already. Maybe then you’ll stop whining.”

Part of him wants to respond, but what’s the point? She’s not military, and she’ll never respect the chain of command. He’ll just be wasting his breath. Instead, Jorgan concentrates on putting away his weapon. He’ll clean it later tonight. Once he has answers from Wynneth.

Only seven minutes pass before he lets himself into Wynneth’s quarters. She’s sitting on the bed, her legs swinging slowly back and forth over the side. “It might take a while to explain,” she says softly, not even looking at him.

It’s not until he’s standing in front of her that she finally looks up. Jorgan’s ready to lay into her - how could she make him go through that _again_? - but stops the moment he really looks at her face. He’s seen that expression on soldiers before, when they’ve been pushed to far, when the weight on their shoulders is about to bring them crashing down, when their carefully constructed walls are ready to crumble. And when they finally crack, the soldiers are never the same again. No damn way is that happening to his girl on his watch.

What in star’s name happened to her while he was on Zakuul?

“Change into workout clothes,” he snaps, walking over to the dresser. He’s not stayed here long enough to know where she keeps things, so Jorgan makes a guess and opens up the middle drawer. There sit some t-shirts and leggings. Perfect.

Jorgan throws the clothes to her before marching over to his duffel bag. As he starts to change, Wynneth simply stands there, holding the clothes in her hand like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “You heard me, soldier,” Jorgan says in his best Drill Sargent impression, the type of voice that makes soldiers snap to attention. “Get into that workout gear.”

“Aric, what are you doing?” she asks quietly, still staring at the clothes.

“We’re going to work out,” Jorgan says, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “Thought that was obvious.”

Her head snaps up and she looks him in the eye. “I don’t want to go to the gym. I don’t want to be around anyone right now,” she says, and there’s an anger in her voice that makes Jorgan nod in approval. She’s still in there fighting.

“That’s why we’re going to the _Thunderclap,_ _”_ Jorgan barks. “Now _change._ _”_

She rolls her eyes, but to his relief she starts changing. He stands with his back to her, arms crossed over his chest. He’s not sure if this gambit is the right one, but he can’t just do nothing. Best to give her something to focus on, instead of just rolling around in emotion. And quite frankly, if she’s going to insist he really take leave for twenty-four hours, he can use the distraction, or he might dwell on what he should have done better.

Less than a minute later, Wynneth stands next to him, glaring. “Now what?” she asks, breathing hard through her nose. Oh, he’s gotten her nice and pissed off, alright. Which is exactly what she needs.

“Don’t let anyone try to stop you, understood?” Jorgan says. “We’re going straight to the _Thunderclap._ _”_

Maybe someone put the word out that Wynneth wasn’t to be disturbed, because not a single person walks up to them on the way to the military hangar. Of course, it’s possible they simply just look intimidating, and no one wants to bother them as they walk. They are both commandos, after all, and Wynneth practically stomps the whole way there.

They both pause as they enter the hangar. Usually a buzz of activity, everyone is quiet, especially close to the caskets. Even Doctor Lokin has moved, leaving the caskets the focus of the area. Just seeing the coffins again _hurts_ , and even as annoyed as he is with her, Jorgan wants to reach out, feel the comfort of Wynneth’s hand in his. He might be on leave, but he’s not willing to put on a display. Comfort will have to wait.

Wynneth is the one that moves first, heading to console on the right side of the hangar. “Here,” she says, entering a key code.

The hangar door opens and Jorgan follows Wynneth outside into the sunshine. It’s bright out, bright enough Jorgan needs to squint, but then he sees the ship in front of him. He only heard that Shan found the ship; Jorgan actually hasn’t a chance to actually see it yet. Been two years since the Republic grounded the _Thunderclap_ , convinced the ship had become too recognizable over the years.

The ship’s a little worse for wear than he remembers, but aren’t they all? It’s still the most important ship of his life. His first command, once he took over Havoc. The place he managed to get his career back on track after his demotion a decade ago. And most significantly, the ship where he fell in love with Wynneth and they started building a life together.

A lump starts to form in his throat, but he pushes it down, knowing there’s no room for sentimentality right now.

Once they walk to the bottom of the stair ramp, Wynneth quickly enters a code and the door opens. “Come on,” she says, her voice still tightly coiled.

Jorgan follows her up into the ship, entering another code once inside to shut the door. The ship smells slightly different. Wynneth probably wouldn’t notice, but he does. There’s no trace of his Havoc in here, no trace of Wynneth, all replaced by other scents. Some he recognizes, like from Koth’s crew, but others that are completely foreign. They might have to walk around the entire ship, just to make it smell right again. But that can come later.

No words pass between them as they walk to the workout room. When the door shuts behind them, Wynneth kicks off her shoes. His stay on, not wanting to risk his claws coming out without warning.

“You need a warmup? Jorgan asks. He could probably use one after being on a ship for two days straight on the way back from Zakuul. But he’ll follow her lead.

“Nope.”

Jorgan slips on a pair of boxing mitts while Wynneth puts on quick wraps. She’s already standing on the balls of her feet as she works. They aren’t going to spar, not in hand-to-hand combat. As strong as she is, she’s no match for him, thanks to Cathar strength and reflexes. But he can take a beating, and he thinks that’s exactly what she needs. Maybe even what they both need.

She flexes her fingers before slipping on a pair of training gloves. The look on her face is cold, and Jorgan starts to prepare himself mentally. If he’s reading her right, she’s going to try to kick the crap out of him. And he’ll let her. Because he loves her.

There’s barely time to bring the mitts up to protect his face before Wynneth swings with a right hook. Fine. If that’s how she wants to play this, he’ll go straight to the problem. “Where the fuck did you disappear to when I was on Zakuul?” he asks.

The next punch is an uppercut, which he blocks easily. She lets out a low, bitter laugh that sends a chill through his body. “Lost outside of the base. Then kriffing kidnapped by Grandmaster Satele Shan and the Force Ghost of Darth Marr.”

The words don’t even make sense, but Jorgan knows, he _knows,_ Wynneth would never lie or joke about something this serious. “Grandmaster Shan was here? Why isn’t she helping the Alliance?”

A roundhouse kick almost throws him off balance. Almost. “Gone now. The _Force_ led them somewhere else,” Wynneth says, her voice dripping in a sarcasm that’s not like her. She throws an unsteady punch while practically shouting, “Fuck the Force!”

She tries to knee him in the gut, but Jorgan moves out of the way. “Why were you even outside to begin with? We had an op. You had to leave for Zakuul.”

There are tears in her eyes, and Jorgan knows they’re getting close to the issue. He just needs to get it out of her. Wynneth pounds her gloves together, saying, “Lana thought I should ask Valkorian for information on the Spire.”

“Bullshit,” Jorgan snaps, bracing his shoulder for another punch. “You hate Valkorian. Why would you want to hear anything he has to say?”

She throws a punch. “Do you really think,” and she throws another, “that’s there’s anything,” Jorgan swings out his leg to block her kick, “I won’t fucking do,” he brings his forearms up to protect his face as she rails hit after hit, “to keep you safe?”

And with those words, Jorgan’s had enough. Enough of death. Enough of stress. Enough of panic. _Enough._ He kicks Wynneth’s legs out from under her. She clearly doesn’t expect the move and tumbles to the ground easily, giving Jorgan just enough time to straddle her hips and pin her arms above her head. “Don’t you _ever_ put yourself in that sort of danger just for me,” he says, a growl escaping at the back of his throat. “I lived through your death once, Winnie, and when you disappeared… I cannot go through that again.”

“I will _never_ not try to protect you, Aric,” Wynneth says, almost snarling, struggling against his hold. “ _Never._ ”

The intensity of her voice goes straight to his gut, warmth spreading throughout his blood. _This_ is his mate, his wife. Right now, she is perfection and he knows they will never stop fighting for each other.

But before he can say any of those things, Jorgan realizes he loosened the grip on her hands, giving Wynneth just the opening she needs. He can’t even try to stop her as she flips them over, so that he’s flat on his back, ears pinned against his head, claws extending. Perfection? Now she’s just fucking infuriating.

Thanks to his anger at her breaking his hold, it takes him a second to realize she’s grinding against him. “Thought we were fighting,” he says, holding back a moan.

“We are,” Wynneth says, sitting up straight and tossing her training gloves to the side. He could easily get out from under her now, but she clearly has a different idea in mind. Jorgan quickly follows her lead and throws off his own practice mitts. “But now I’m going to fuck you through the floor., instead.” She leans forward and kisses him, hard enough to almost hurt. “Assuming you’re okay with that.”

His cock’s already hard, thanks to the way she’s pressing against him. “Yes, sir,” Jorgan says, more than okay with the change in tactics.

She lifts her hips, just high enough for Jorgran to pull down his workout pants and underwear., while she yanks down her leggings to her knees. Eye contact isn’t broken between them as Wynneth grabs his cock and slowly sinks herself down, surrounding him completely.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he says, placing his hands on Wynneth’s hips. It’s not even fair how good she feels right now, how wet she is. Jorgan might be slightly uncomfortable, not having a pillow, but right now, he could care less. Almost two weeks have passed since they’ve last had sex, and his body is ready to _fuck_.

Her hands fist the fabric of his t-shirt as she starts to move, her pace quick. Thanks to her leggings, Jorgan can barely move his own hips, can’t do much more than strain his neck as he grips her thighs. Wynneth’s hand goes between her legs, touching herself as she rocks above him, hard and furious, her eyes closed.

That won’t do, Jorgan thinks, as he lets out a growl. He wants her looking at him when she comes, wants to see her pupils wide from sex, wants to see the way her eyes flutter from the aftershocks. And the way she’s moving, it’s not going to take long. So he takes his claws and presses them into the side of her thighs to get her attention.

Wynneth’s eyes open at once and she looks down at him, her face a perfect storm. “Harder,” she orders and Jorgan obeys like a good soldier should. He digs in his claws, feeling her skin break, feeling the warmth of her blood against the pads of his fingers.

She’s moving erratically now, clenching around his cock. He’s not ready to come, not yet, but she clearly is. Her mouth opens in a perfect O, but no sounds comes out as she stills, except for her hand. He tries to take in every detail as she orgasms, clenching his teeth as he does.

Once she’s done, Wynneth takes a few gasping breaths as she places her hands on top of his. There’s something in her face he can’t quite read, and Jorgan’s always prided himself on knowing her moods. Something dealing with her disappearance, he guesses. He’ll have to figure it out. After he comes.

His cock is all but screaming at him, still hard, and desperately missing the friction as she moved above him. But then Wynneth swings her leg off over him and leans down, resting on her forearms and knees, so her ass is almost in his face. Jorgan takes the invitation as it is, and quickly pushes himself up so he’s on his knee.

She’s so fucking wet Jorgan doesn’t even need to adjust himself before they start to fuck again. Grabbing her waist, Jorgan thrusts just about as hard as he can, again and again. Wynneth moves her hips back in rhythm, letting him go as deep as he possibly can, so that there’s absolutely nothing between them.

Jorgan can already feel the start of his orgasm, deep in his belly, and when he looks down, seeing the dried blood on her thighs, he’s gone. One final slam of his hips and he spills into her, not even trying to keep quiet, knowing it’s just the two of them on the ship and absolutely no one can hear him. He swears he sees stars in front of his eyes as he comes.

And then it’s over.

His ears are practically ringing as he tries to catch his breath. Wynneth is quiet, but still breathing heavily, resting her forehead on the workout mat. Leaning back slightly, Jorgan’s cock slips out of her, and he bites his cheek at the sight of his come dripping from her cunt. Without her asking, he pulls up her underwear and leggings over her hips, before setting himself right.

Wynneth stretches out on the mat, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. He imitates the position next to her, slipping his hand into hers. Time seems to still for a bit as they lay together.

“Valkorian, Satele, even Marr…” she says, and Jorgan closes his eyes at the helplessness in her voice, wondering what he could possibly do to save her from drowning. “They all expect me to take control of Eternal Empire once this is done. Rule Zakuul.”

He looks over at her then and see her eyes are shut tight. “You’d do better than those currently in charge,” he says, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Don’t,” she says sharply. “I thought, maybe thirty years from now, maybe I could run for office on whatever planet we ended up calling home. But rule an entire Empire?” Jorgan can only watch as she shakes her head and mouths the words, “I can’t. I can’t.”

Her breathing is getting shallow and Jorgan recognizes the beginning of a panic attack. So he says the only thing he can think of that might bring her back to him. Turning onto his side, and looking down at his wife, he says, “Then we’ll run.”

The words have the effect he hopes. Wynneth stills immediately and looks him right in the eye. “What?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

“You heard me,” he says, taking her hand, a plan cascading through his mind. “When this is done. When Arcann is out of power and the Eternal Fleet isn’t a threat, we’ll run. We’ll find some backwater planet where we can grow our own food and find a couple of orphans who need a home.”

She reaches up, placing her palm against his cheek. Jorgan’s taken two oaths in his life. One to defend the Republic, the other to honor and protect the woman lying next to him. If those oaths ever came in conflict, there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind which is the one he’ll choose. Wynneth is _everything_ to him, and if some day, they need to leave the Alliance and the Republic behind to keep her safe, he’ll go with her without a second thought.

He leans his head down until his brow rests against hers. As her palm slides from his cheek to the back of his neck, Wynneth whispers, “Thank you.”

Her shoulders are still tense and Jorgan can see a vein in the side of her neck. Sex and sparring should have cured this. There’s absolutely no reason she should still be this stressed. Unless he’s not gotten the whole story yet. “But that’s not the only thing you’re worried about, is it?” he asks softly. “Winnie…”

She rolls away from him before sitting up, knees hugged tightly to her chest. Pushing himself up, Jorgan scoots to the edge of the mat, so he can sit against the wall. Wynneth moves back, settling between his legs, leaning her back flush against his chest. Jorgan rests his chin on her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her, bringing her in as close as possible.

“Valkorian… Valkorian did something to me,” she says, her voice pained, and Jorgan’s entire world falls apart.

“What did he do?” Jorgan asks roughly, afraid to hear the answer. Only two weeks ago he promised to kill her if Valkorian became too much. As much as it hurt to make that promise, he hoped she would never come to collect. Already the clinical solider in him is ready to strike: break her neck while she’s still in his arms. Simple. Efficient. Clean.

“Remember that alcove outside the base we found?” Wynneth asks. And he does. A small little alcove away from the base where they made love under a tree with the sun shining down on them. “I went there to talk to Valkorian. And he was _angry._ So fucking angry. Saying I squandered his gifts. How I needed to remember how to face death alone.” She tenses in his arms, so Jorgan holds her tighter, reminding her he’s right there with her. She’s absolutely not alone. “As if I haven’t faced death a dozen times.”

She slams her palms on the floor and pushes herself up and out out of his arms. Wringing her hands, Wynneth starts pacing, and Jorgan’s heart clenches, seeing the tears in her eyes, and hearing the way she’s having trouble breathing. “And then he left. Said he had somewhere else to be.”

“He’s gone-”

“Aric, he’s coming back. And I don’t know when!”

Jorgan’s on his feet in an instant. Wynneth’s doubled over, hands on her knees, practically hyperventilating. He gets on his knees, their faces close, thanks to the way she’s keeled over. “Breathe with me, babe. Just one breath at a time.” His hands finds her as he takes exaggerated breaths, grateful how quickly she mirrors him, even as her eyes are wide and terrified.

He’s not sure how much time passes before she’s breathing regularly again. Once she straightens her back, Jorgan gets up off of his knees, and before she even has a chance to react, brings her in close, wrapping both arms around her, protecting her as much as he can. Her cheek rests against his chest, and he wonders if she can hear his heartbeat, going a million fucking kilometers a minute right now.

After a minute, Wynneth pulls back, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m okay,” she says quietly.

“You sure?” Jorgan asks, looking her over. She’s breathing normally now, but still has that pained look in her eyes. She takes another breath and he can’t stand waiting any longer. “Winnie, what did he do to you?”

She takes his hands, threading their fingers together. “Valkorian opened me up to the Force,” she says, her voice void of any sort of emotion.

Jorgran tries to process the words, but they simply don’t make any _sense._ “You’re Force sensitive now? I don’t understand.”

“No one does,” she says bitterly. “No one in the Force Enclave understands. Apparently I can’t use the Force, but it flows through me or some bullshit like that.” Her face scrunches up before she continues. “One last token for Valkorian to show me his favor.”

“Yeah, well, he can take his gifts and shove it,” Jorgan says.

To his surprise, Wynneth lets out a laugh, an actual laugh. That, more than anything makes him think they might make it through this. “He didn’t give me a receipt,” she says with a snort. But then she turns serious again. “It sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud, Aric. Satele and Marr said I needed to make a new weapon and then sent me on a fucking scavenger hunt for parts.”

And just like that, he’s coiled in anger again. Jorgan’s not the best at controlling his temper. He can’t think of a single Cathar who is. But somehow, he manages not to punch the wall at the thought of the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order and Darth Marr putting Wynneth through this. “Then what happened?” he asks, his entire body straining not to lash out.

“There was a ritual to put the weapon together. I was so mad at non-answers and their smugness that I’m just supposed to trust them and the Force that I sent Satele away. I couldn’t even look at her,” Wynneth says. “I respected her once.” She shakes her head. “And this ritual. Marr wouldn’t let me put the weapon together normally. Made me levitate the parts. I put it together using the Force.”

“Winnie, that…” Jorgan trails off. He’s not even sure how to react to the story. The Force is something he can respect, even if he doesn’t understand it. Wynneth, though, she can’t stand it. And whenever they worked with Jedi who insisted the Force guided them, she ignored them, and never let the Force have any hand in her decisions. One reason why the Jedi Order rarely worked with Havoc.

“And then they finally let me go and apparently two days had passed and you know the rest,” Wynneth says. She sounds absolutely bone-tired. He’s seen her exhausted before, but this is something different. An emotional weariness taking root deep inside her, stars, inside them both. They’re soldiers. How in the galaxy are they supposed to fight against forces like this?

She takes a step closer and wraps her arms around his waist. Jorgan looks down and her face, still lined with stress, and asks, “Are you okay?”

“No,” Wynneth says at once, shaking her head. “But I’m not ready to stop fighting.”

“Good,” Jorgan says, relieved beyond words he doesn’t have to keep his promise. At least not tonight.

He holds her close, feeling the swell of her breasts against his chest, the tickle of her hair against his neck as she rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your men,” she says, and he needs to shut his eyes and the sorrow he hears in her voice. “I should have listened to my gut and ignored Valkorian. Maybe then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Or maybe he would have done the same thing in the middle of the Spire and we’d have really been screwed,” Jorgan says, brushing his lips against her brow. “Come on, Winnie. You and I both know better than to play the damn ‘what if’ game.”

“I know,” she says, looking up at him, but not quite meeting his eye.

Jorgan leans down and kisses her, soft and slow, tasting sweat and tears on her lips. Soldiers die. It’s a fact of life and war. No matter how much he wishes it otherwise, nothing he can do will change the fate of those four people from Zakuul lying in caskets, waiting to be returned to their loved ones. Doesn’t mean he has to like it, and it always means he needs to do better. Always.

She ends the kiss, a sad sort of smile on her face. He already knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. As much as he’d love to simply stay on the _Thunderclap_ tonight, ignoring the rest of the galaxy, they’re at war. And the Alliance needs their commander. They need Wynneth.

 “We better get back.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, trying to think just what in the star’s name he’ll do with himself for the next twenty-two hours, until his leave is over. And once it’s done, he’ll have hours of debriefings ahead of him and reports to fill out. Not to mention having a private word with Shan. Jorgan did not appreciate the agent calling him out like that. And he especially didn’t appreciate him trying to do Wynneth’s job, as if she didn’t know how to run a squad.

“Tell you what,” Wynneth says as she puts her running shoes back on. “If you want to go and plan some drills with Aygo, I won’t consider that violating your leave.”

Jorgan perks up at that. He only had a week with the Exiles before the op and already he had some new ideas from training them. “Really?” he asks, aware how ridiculously hopeful his voice sounds.

Laughing, Wynneth holds out her hand. “Really,” she says. “I know that’s your idea of fun.”

He places his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers together. As they start to head of the workout room, Jorgan takes a deep breath. The room smells like sweat and sex and even better, it smells like _her._ He purposefully slows their pace as they walk through the common room, wanting their scents to linger behind them.

Once she keys in the code on the console, the door opens, and Jorgan follows her outside. No need to squint this time; the sun has set, bathing the area in a red-gold light. “This past week has been so strange, Aric,” Wynneth says as they walk down the ramp. “I’m ready to bury myself in paperwork just to get a sense of normalcy.”

“Fill out a couple of reports for me, will you?” Jorgan says with a chuckle. As the bay door opens, they drop hands walking into the hangar. His chest constricts when he sees the caskets have been moved. He’ll have to find out where since he’s going to take on the responsibility that those people make it home to the other Exiles. They deserve that much.

“I see Aygo over by Qyzen,” Wynneth says softly. “Try to have a little fun, okay? You deserve it.” She takes a step closer, and whispers, “And maybe come back to our quarters around twenty-two hundred? I wouldn’t mind taking our time next round.”

Public be damned. Jorgan leans his head forward, resting his brow against her just for a moment. “I do appreciate your attention to detail,” he says, his voice low.

She smiles before walking away. Jorgan watches her for a moment, pleased to see that she’s not carrying quite so much stress in her shoulders. He’ll do his best to get rid of the rest tonight.

But in the meantime, Jorgan jogs over to Aygo, ready to share his ideas.


	13. Atonal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter thirteen. Spoilers for that chapter as well as the dark side ending of that chapter.

**Atonal:** Music that is written and performed without regard to any specific key.

#

 _For a military hangar, it_  ' _s far too quiet._

_Jorgan looks at his wife, hardly recognizing the twisted sneer on her face. He heard all about her run-in with Valkorian on the trip back from Zakuul. Could the former Sith Emperor have changed her so much so quickly?_

_“You abandoned the Republic and defied my Alliance. You’ve dishonored the Havoc Squad name. I can’t trust you… and I won’t have you disrupting my operations any further,” Wynneth says, cruelty lacing every word._

_Theirs was a relationship built on trust, and to hear her say she didn_ ' _t_ _trust him… It’s a knife in the back. “You… you can’t. I love you,” he says, trying to break through to her, trying to find the woman he loved underneath this ruthless veneer._

 _Wynneth doesn_ ' _t even look back at him as she says, her voice a solid block of ice, “You’re not the man I fell in love with. I lost him years ago.”_

 _She turns, and Jorgan knows exactly what she_ _’s going to do. He’s see that look plenty of times in people’s eyes. Cold-blooded murders with only one thing on their mind: death. Her hand is on her pistol before he even has a chance to react. And before he can defend himself, he feels the sensation of white-hot plasma in his stomach…_

“No!”

Jorgan sits up in bed, trying to catch his breath. Without even thinking, he reaches out for Wynneth, needing to hold on to _something._ He doesn’t look behind him as Wynneth slips behind him, her legs on either side of his.

“I’m here,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around his bare stomach. She’s naked, they both are, and he tries to relax as she curls her fingers into his fur.

“Just a dream,” he says, wiping his eyes. He’s still breathing heavy, and makes no resistance as Wynneth pulls him back so he’s resting against her completely.

“Yeah? Sounded a bit like a nightmare,” she says. Her voice is rough from sleep, and Jorgan sighs. She needs a good night’s rest, and here he is, waking her up because his subconscious is an asshole. “Want to talk about it?”

He starts to shake his head, but stops. Jorgan’s never been one to beat around the bush, so he asks the only question on his mind, the one that tormented him the most in his nightmare. “Do you still trust me?” he asks, trying to brace himself for the worst possible answer. “Even after this op?”

“I will be your protector, you will be mine,” Wynneth whispers. Relief washes over him thanks to the familiar words, the traditional ones they spoke at their wedding. “I will honor you above all others as you will honor me.”

She squeezes his hands as Jorgan says with her, “We are now joined for eternity. Even death cannot end our bond.”

Her lips brush his shoulder, followed by the dull bite of her teeth. The pain focuses him, and he feels his body responding. “I still trust you, Aric. Always.” Jorgan lets out a slight moan as her hands drift from his stomach to his inner thighs. “I could ask you the same question, you know. Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t even need to think about the answer. “Always," he says.

Moving to his side, Jorgan puts his hand on the back of Wynneth’s neck and brings her down for a kiss. He’ll be much happier showing her just how much he trusts her. He’s never really been one for words.


	14. Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the end of Chapter Fourteen

**Grave:** Word to indicate the movement or entire composition is to be played very slow and serious.

* * *

 

“Commander?”

Wynneth turns at the sound of Torian’s voice behind her. “Yes, Cadera?” she says, setting down her holopad on the table.

She’s not surprised that he’s sought her out. In less than an hour, they’ll be landing on Odessen, and truth be told, she’s ignored the Mandalorian for most of trip.

The ship’s galley is small, so it takes Torian only a few steps before he’s standing in front of her. “Wondering if you had some sort of problem with me,” he says as he settles into some form of parade rest.

Wynneth crosses her legs and picks up her cup of caf. “Get right to the heart of it, don’t you?” she asks.

With a shrug, Torian says, “Not much point otherwise. You have an issue with all Mandos or just me?”

One sip of caf doesn’t buy her the time she needs to figure out how in the galaxy to get out of this conversation without insulting Torian or his heritage. Somehow, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to. So the truth it is. “All Mandos.”

The answer clearly surprises Torian. “Alright, then. Got a reason?”

It takes more effort than Wynneth knew she possessed to say _how long you got?_ Between taking out the last Chancellor to their obsession with killing Jedi, she could go for a while. As someone who fights for peace, she can’t get behind a culture who fights for fighting’s sake. Instead she’ll stick with the main issue. “I’m married to a Cathar.”

Torian tilts his head and it takes a moment before Wynneth sees the realization in his eyes. “That was a long time ago. Not my clan.”

“Not your clan? Really?” Wynneth asks, hardly believing the casualness of his reply.

“You feel responsible for everything the Republic does?” Torian asks.

She thinks back to Rishi, to killing the soldiers of the Ellipse squad. To spending who knows how many man hours and credits chasing after the defectors from the original Havoc squad. “Sometimes,” she answers after a moment. “I fight- fought for the Republic, so in a way, yeah. I do.”

“Understood,” Torian says with a nod, before walking off without another word.

Knowing some bridges aren’t meant to be crossed, Wynneth picks up her holopad and gets back to work.

#

“Seems we got a welcoming committee,” Torian says as he looks out the viewscreen.

Curious, Wynneth glances at the screen and swallows hard at the sight waiting her. At the end of the landing pad stand close to a half dozen Cathar. Including Aric. He stands in the back, clearly not the leader of this little gathering, but he’s there all the same.

Her heart flutters a bit at the sight of him. She didn’t expect him back from Zakuul. Last time they spoke, Aric told her the Exiles were making progress, and he’d be there for a while.

As glad as Wynneth is to see him, she’s annoyed, too. Holding back a sigh, she wonders what exactly the group of Cathar thought they’re going to accomplish by this show. Intimidation? From what she’s seen of Torian, that’s not going to be easy.

“I’ll take care of it,” Wynneth says quietly.

“No need,” Torian says, which is just about the answer she expects. “Not here to cause any trouble.”

“I know,” she says, and is surprised to realize she means it.

The hatch opens and Wynneth steps out first, taking a deep breath of the crisp outside air. Recycled air just isn’t the same. As Torian steps out of the ship, the murmurs start, people surely wondering just who the Mandalorian is.

She walks past the group of Cathar, wanting to see how they react to Torian. Thankfully, they all simply stare and make no move toward him. Theron leads Torian into the base and just like that, any potential conflict is over.

The group starts talking in Catharese to each other, barely above whispers. Even after knowing Aric for so long, she only understands a few words; most of what she knows is from the bedroom, when he’s too worked up to speak Basic.  

Wynneth waits, not wanting to play the role of nagging wife. Once the group starts to disband, she doesn’t drag her husband off to the side, but a curt nod of the head has just the same effect. “What are you all doing?” she asks, keeping her voice down. This isn’t quite the place for this conversation, but if they head to their quarters, she’ll just want to tear his clothes off instead of talk.

“Adan’s idea,” Aric says, crossing his arms over his chest, and to Wynneth’s satisfaction, looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Remember him from Dagger Wing? He’s working on getting the entire squad over. Could be a real boon-”

“I’m not asking about Dagger Wing. I’m asking why six Cathar felt like they needed to intimidate a member of the Alliance,” Wynneth asks, taking a steady breath so not to raise her voice. “I’m not asking as your wife. I’m asking as the Commander of said Alliance.”

He’s still then, in that way of his when he’s sniping. Most of the time, there’s a sense of motion, of progress, with Aric, of always moving forward. That is, until there’s a sniper rifle in his hands and a target in his scope.

“I dunno, to be perfectly honest,” Aric says, shaking his head. “Let him know we remember? He probably doesn’t even know what happened to Cathar. Sometimes it feels like it’s ancient history to the rest of the galaxy.”

“He does know,” Wynneth says pointedly. “I reminded him on the ride over.”

“Yeah?” Aric says with a hint of a smile. “I’d have liked to have seen that.” Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, he adds, “I’ve figured for a while now we’d have to get the Mandalorians involved with the Alliance. Where else are we going to find enough cannon fodder? Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“Aric…” Wynneth says, letting her voice trail off.

He looks down at his feet and it’s all she can do not to wrap her arms around him. As much as a human can get it, she _gets_ it. She covered her head with the sacred cloth when they wed. She vowed that his burdens were hers. And when they traveled to Cathar, she held him as he cried onto her shoulder after a day of walking through ruin after ruin after fucking ruin.

“Just. Just do me a favor and don’t make me work with them,” Aric says, looking her in the eye. “Unless you don’t have another choice, of course.”

She wants to promise, but she knows better than that. Who knows what lies ahead of them? But she also has no doubt if he and Torian needed to work together for the good of the Alliance, Aric will step up in a heartbeat. “Understood,” Wynneth says.

He looks over her shoulder and asks, “Anyone behind me?”

All Wynneth sees is the ship, so she shakes her head. Then without any warning, she feels Aric’s strong arms around her and his lips against hers. The kiss is over almost before it truly begun. But it’s enough.

“Can’t believe I managed not to kiss you for that long,” Aric says, and Wynneth feels her cheeks redden. How does he keep managing to make her blush, even after all this time? “Won’t happen again.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, biting her lower lip. “Have any free time right now? I wouldn’t mind de-stressing a bit.”

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” Aric says with a bark of a laugh, exactly the response she hoped. “I’ll gladly destress you for a while.” He rolls his shoulders. “Wouldn’t mind a bit of de-stressing myself.”

Wynneth walks past him towards the base, putting a bit of sway in her hips, which is harder than it looks wearing heavy armor. Aric catches up easily, and she’s not surprised that their hands bump into each other more than once as they walk to their quarters.

The Mandalorians worry her. The thought of them turning on the galaxy once Arcann is off the throne… But she also worries about the Empire. And the Republic. And the Hutts.

If she starts to feel responsible for the entire galaxy, like she told Torian she felt responsible for the Republic, how long before the pressure causes her to implode? Already she’s on pins and needles, wondering when Valkorian will reappear. No one can live with that much weight on their shoulders.

“You still with me?” Aric asks as the door to their quarters slides open.

“Just lost in thought,” Wynneth says, walking inside.

She lets him pull her against him, so her back is flush against his chest. As his arms wrap around her waist, Wynneth is once again amazed how she can just feel so damn _safe_ in Aric’s arms, even when the galaxy is going to pieces around them.

“Well, I’ve found you,” he says as he kisses her neck, his hands starting to release the seals of her hardsuit. “So no thinking about anything other than us for the next hour.”

She likes the sound of that. Responsibility can wait. At least for a little bit. “Deal.”


	15. Refrain

**Refrain:** A repeating phrase that is played at the end of each verse in the song.

* * *

 

“Under your leadership, I believe it’s more than possible.”

Wynneth nods as she tries to stifle back a yawn. There might only be a dozen or so people in the war room, but it feels crowded, overheated, almost. But that could also be because she desperately wants to get her husband alone. “Sorry,” she says, keenly aware of Aric’s eyes boring under her skin. “Lana, like you said, it’s been a trying day. Why don’t we schedule a meeting for the morning? Let’s all get some rest.”

“Good idea,” Theron says quickly, before Lana has a chance to respond. His eyes look past Wynneth, to the exit where Koth left. Hopefully he can calm Koth down a bit. “Maybe we can all meet in the cantina later, but right now, a nap sounds like the doctor’s orders.”

“Agreed,” Lana says readily. “We’ll meet at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow to discuss what’s happened. Until then, sleep.”

The group disperses quickly and it only takes a few long steps to catch up to Aric. Without a word between them, they start walking towards their quarters. Wynneth isn’t exactly sure what she needs right now. She’s furious and relieved and exhausted and a million other emotions, all warring for dominance. It’s enough to make her want to sit down and have a good cry.

Maybe that’s what she needs.

Aric palms the console, which opens the door to their quarters. A quick look around tells her that there are no droids or other surprises in the room. Once the door closes behind them, they’ll be alone. Finally.

She turns around to look at Aric, and he’s staring at the floor, as still as if he had a target in his scope. “Aric?” she asks quietly. This isn’t quite the reunion she expected. The fact that neither one of them are trying to take off their clothes worries her a bit. The confidence, the pride she saw in his eyes as she walked into the war room less than fifteen minutes ago is all but gone.

He shakes his head and Wynneth does the only thing she can think of. As gently as she can, she takes his hand, and starts unlatching the seals on his glove. One hand, then the other, putting the gloves carefully down on the couch. When he doesn’t move, she steps behind him and unholsters the sniper rifle from his back, cradling it like it’s her own before placing it in the corner. And still Aric doesn’t move.

His chestpiece is a different matter. She’s not as familiar with this design, not like his old kit that he wore when they were both in Havoc Squad. Her fingers search for the latch on the side. When she finds one, Aric says, his voice dull, “I should have gone with you.”

Wynneth doesn’t stop, just unlatches the next seal. She wonders about that. Wonders why he would choose to stay behind when she would have much rather have him guarding her six. Part of her doesn’t want to argue, doesn’t want to deal with any of this right now, but that’s not fair to either of them. “Yeah,” she says. “I would have liked you there.”

Aric steps away so quickly that she startles, bringing her hands up to her chest. Instead of walking back to him, Wynneth rolls her shoulders, reaching behind her to try to remove her assault rifle. There’s a twinge in her shoulder - maybe more than a twinge, she’ll have to see a medic tomorrow - and she’s not quite able to stop a yelp of pain from coming out. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Aric move behind her, taking off her rifle from her back himself before putting it next to his sniper rifle.

“I couldn’t do it,” Aric says as he lifts up her hand and slides the glove off. Wynneth immediately flexes her fingers before holding up her other hand to him. “Soon as we knew Arcann was in the system, I knew you were going up there. Because that’s what you do.”

“So why…” Wynneth leaves the question unasked, lets it linger between them. While it permeates the air between them, she finishes unlatching his chestpiece and he helps her guide it over his head.

“Just kept thinking. I wasn’t with you when you were on Darth Marr’s ship. And you came back,” he says, his fingers pressing into her side to find the seals of her armor. “I wasn’t with you when you disappeared on Odessen. And you came back.”

The magnitude of what he’s suggesting… Wynneth closes her eyes and shakes her head. “So what, you’re saying you’ll never have my six again? Because I might not come back?” She turns and faces him. His head is up now, chin slightly raised, like he wants her to challenge him, which is exactly what she’ll do. “That’s not fair, Aric. I _need_ you.”

“No, you don’t,” Aric says so quietly she barely hears him. 

At first, she assumes heard wrong. But when he doesn’t say anything else, Wynneth turns away, not sure how to even look at him. The words feel like a slap to the face and knocks the wind out of her. Any remaining adrenaline from the mission disappears as quickly as turning off a switch. “What are you trying to say?”

“Fuck, that came out wrong,” he says, sounding just as exhausted as she feels. He reaches out and unlatches the rest of her seals on her chestpiece and there’s the usual relief of taking off the piece. “I’ve got to get out of this armor.”

Wynneth nods, not sure what else to do except to get down on one knee and take off one boot, then the other. Once her legpieces are safely next to her chestpiece, she sits on the couch in just her underarmor, facing forward, bringing her knees to her chest. A moment later, Aric sits next to her, so close there’s no space between them. She looks over to him then, and he pats his lap. A quick burst of relief floods through her as she moves to straddle his thighs.

“You haven’t needed me for a long time, Winnie,” Aric says and his voice is tender. Her stomach clenches, but somehow she doesn’t interrupt and manages to stay silent so she can listen to what he wants to say. “I got you through hunting down Tavus and the rest of the traitors. But after that? Destroying the Gauntlet? Bringing in General Rakton? Revan?” He places his hand against her cheek and Wynneth leans in to his touch. “That was all you. I was just lucky enough to be along for the ride.”

Her first instinct is deny his words, to say that she couldn’t have done any of that without him. But that would be a lie. If Aric wasn’t on the squad, if he had gone back to Ord Mantel when General Vander offered her the promotion, Wynneth still would have managed to accomplish everything just the same. To think otherwise is an insult to her abilities, and she deserves better.

She leans up against him as she presses her brow next to his. “I want you, then,” she says, closing her eyes. “I’ll never not want you by my side, Aric.”

His kiss is unexpected, but Wynneth returns it whole-heartedly. One hand rests on his chest, while she drags her nails down the back of his scalp, earning a moan from him. But then Aric pulls away. “Wait, we should finish hashing this out.”

Wynneth sits up straight and nods, rolling her left shoulder. The twinge has upgraded to a dull ache; maybe that trip to the medic tomorrow might need to be tonight instead. Not quite the way she planned on celebrating her victory over Arcann, but nothing has quite gone the way she expected since she escaped Arcann’s flagship. “Not quite sure what else there is to say,” she says honestly. “I can’t take on the Eternal Fleet by myself, Aric. So maybe I don’t need you specifically. But I do need support. I need people. And you’re the one I want.”

Aric looks away, blinking quickly. “Hadn’t thought about it like that,” he says finally. He slides his hands around her waist and rests his palms on her ass, but not before giving her ass a slight squeeze. Wynneth smiles, the stress that built up since they entered the room slowly starting to fade away. She nuzzles her cheek against his, a Cathar form of affection.

“Please start,” Wynneth says. “Lana and Theron are good, but they’re not _you._ _”_ She kisses him quickly on the lips. “I know you can’t be here all the time. You’ve got the Exiles and they might be more important than ever if SCORPIO has control of the Fleet.” When he doesn’t respond, she can tell he already knows when he’s going back to Zakuul. Hopefully she’ll have a day with him before he goes. All she wants is one day. In the grand scheme of the galaxy, that doesn’t seem like too much to ask. “But when you are, it’d be nice to have you at my six.”

He chuckles and the sound along makes her feel like they’re back in sync. “Well, you do know how much I enjoy watching your rear,” Aric says, his smile sly.

A laugh escapes her lips and Wynneth feels lighter than she has in a long time. The galaxy might still be in chaos. The Republic and the Imperials might still be fighting each other. But she has _Aric,_ and with his support, she can take on them all. “And everything else?” she asks, pressing her hips down into his.

“Especially everything else,” he says, nipping at her lower lip.

She tastes a hint of blood and leans forward, kissing Aric hard on the lips. As they kiss, Wynneth starts to pull up her underarmor top, wanting to feel her skin against his hide. “Not here,” Aric says. With a grunt, he stands up, and she wraps her arms around his neck. Somehow, even after all of these years, his strength always manages to surprise her. At almost six feet, Wynneth is not a small woman. Yet he holds her up like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Then where?” she asks, kissing him on the nose.

“Bed. You came back to me. It’s time to welcome you home properly.”


	16. Monotone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during Chapter Two of _Knights of the Eternal Empire_.

**Monotone:** Repetition of a single tone

* * *

 

A knock on a the door finally caused Bey’wan Aygo to put down his holopad on his deak. He had been staring at the reports for hours, trying to make sense out of all the rumors coming out of Dromund Kaas. All of them said the same thing. That the commander of the Alliance was dead.

Standing in the door frame stood the commander’s husband, and Aygo’s good friend, Major Aric Jorgan. Aygo took quick note of the half empty bottle of some sort of alcohol and two tumblers in Jorgan’s hand.

“Get in here before any of the soldiers see you, Jorgan,” Aygo said, trying to keep the sympathy out of his voice. His friend looked awful, fur slightly matted with blood shot eyes. But who could blame him? The man’s wife was MIA. Again. It just wasn’t fair. The galaxy seemed to have to have a cruel streak towards Jorgan at the moment.

“Got tired of drinking alone,” Jorgan said, walking into Aygo’s office, the door closing behind him. Jorgan looked steady on his feet and didn’t slur his words, so he couldn’t be all that drunk. Still better to keep him away from the soldiers, though. The troops respected the hell out of Jorgan, and they absolutely didn’t need to see him mourn for his wife.

Aygo blew out some air between his lips. Less than two weeks ago, there was a friendly fire incident during training that Jorgan got the burnt of. Luckily, the only damage was a concussion serious enough that it kept Jorgan from going to Voss and Dromund Kaas with his wife. “Should you be drinking with those meds of yours?” Aygo asked.

“Nope.”

Jorgan sat down on the other side of the desk, carefully placing the bottle of whiskey down. Well, if the Cathar wanted to go against medical advice, Aygo certainly wasn’t going to stop him. So he said nothing as Jorgan poured two generous helpings of drink. Aygo might not be a fan of whiskey; he detested the stuff, actually. But he couldn’t think of another damn thing he could do to help his friend. If drinking the equivalent of piss helped Jorgan get through this, then that’s what Aygo would do.

After Jorgan slid the tumbler across the desk, Aygo lifted it up in a toast. “May we listen to her words once more,” Aygo said, a spin on a traditional Bothan saying.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jorgan said, clinking his glass against Aygo’s.

Aygo threw back half the whiskey in one gulp, and did his best not to shudder. The liquid coated his throat and he could really stand a drink of water. Instead of dreaming of what he couldn’t have, Aygo said, “I just spoke to Theron and Lana. They’re on their way to start a search.”

“About damn time,” Jorgan said, his voice gruff. He took a sip of whiskey before raising the glass and staring at the drink. Aygo wondered what he saw in there. “I’m ready to go to Dromund Kaas myself."

“Wouldn’t do you any good,” Aygo said, putting a slight warning in his voice. A former Republic Special Forces soldier? Even with the proposed alliance with the Sith, if Jorgan went to Dromund Kaas, chances were he wouldn’t come back.

“Wouldn’t stop me.”

Aygo couldn’t think of a damn thing to say in response. Not when his own family was safely back on Bothawui, which the Eternal Empire seemed to content to leave alone for the moment. Well, sometimes choosing not to speak was the best choice. So he leaned back in his chair and readied himself for another sip of whiskey.

For almost an hour, they sat in silence, staring ahead at the wall and drinking. Aygo tried not to think of all the things he needed to be doing - stalling Saresh for one - and simply sat and drank. Because that was what his friend needed.

A few minutes after they finished off the bottle of whiskey, Jorgan’s comm beeped. Jorgan sucked in his breath, sitting up straight. “That’s Winnie’s tone,” he said, a strange mixture of relief, fear, and anger in his voice.

Jorgan brought up the comm, and Aygo found himself leaning forward, sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting to find out if the Commander of the Alliance was indeed somehow alive. Aygo almost wondered if he sound leave his own office, not wanting to get in the way of any sort of reunion.

The holocomm flicked into life and the Commander stood in front of them, seemingly healthy, but even more importantly, alive. _Aric?_

Aygo felt like an intruder as Jorgan dropped the holocom onto the desk before burying his head in his hands. “You’re alive,” Jorgan finally said, his breathing slightly ragged. He looked up and added, “Aygo’s here.”

The commander nodded. _Oh. We_ _’ll talk later, then._ She turned and faced Aygo. _Thanks, Bey_ _’wan._

“Hey, all I did was drink some awful excuse for alcohol,” Aygo said, standing up. “Why don’t I leave the office so you two can have some privacy.” What he would give to hear that conversation. He might have left his artistic home years ago, but he was still at heart a _Bothan,_ wanting to collect information. “Should I tell the troops the good news?”

_Not yet,_ the commander said. _Theron wants there to be an element of surprise. But I couldn_ _’t…_

Aygo nodded, understanding at once. It was a three day trip from Dromund Kaas to Odessen. Would have been awful to have let Jorgan wait all that time, thinking she was dead. Shrugging into his uniform jacket, Aygo headed towards the office door.

“Bey’wan?” Jorgan asked as Aygo was about to open the door. Aygo turned and looked at his friend. Jorgan had never called him by his first name before. “Once you’re off duty, meet in the cantina? I’ll let you choose the drink.” Jorgan tilted his head and looked thoughtful for a moment. “And I’m buying.”

“I’m a soldier, Aric,” Aygo said with a bark of a laugh. “I never turn down a free drink. I’ll see you there.”

With a dip of his chin, Aygo left the office, content that maybe the galaxy wasn’t quite as cruel as he originally thought.


End file.
